“Coffee and cakes, three times a day.  That’s all!  He won’t even provide transportation, and the troupe can’t walk home.  They refuse to stay there, but they can’t get away.  I’ve cabled The Review, overdrawing my salary scandalously, and Dan is eager to help, but the worst of it is neither of those women knows how to make a living.  Natalie wants to work, but the extent of her knowledge is the knack of frosting a layer cake, and her mother never even sewed on a button in all her life.  It would make a lovely Sunday story, and it wouldn’t help Curtis Gordon with his stockholders.”

“You won’t write it, of course!”

“Oh, I suppose not, but it’s maddening not to be able to do something.  Since there’s a law against manslaughter, the pencil is my only weapon.  I’d like to jab it clear through that ruffian.”  Eliza’s animated face was very stern, her generous mouth was set firmly.

“You can leave out the personal element,” he told her.  “There’s still a big story there, if you realize that it runs back to Washington and involves your favorite policy of conservation.  Those claims belonged to Natalie and her mother.  I happen to know that their locations were legal and that there was never any question of fraud in the titles, hence they were entitled to patents years ago.  Gordon did wrong, of course, in refusing to obey the orders of the Secretary of the Interior even though he knew those orders to be senseless and contradictory, but the women are the ones to suffer.  The Government froze them out.  This is only one instance of what delay and indecision at headquarters has done.  I’ll show you others before we are through.  As for those two—­You say they want to do something?”

“It’s not a question of wanting; they’ve got to do something—­or starve.  They would scrub kitchens if they knew how.”

“Why didn’t they come to me?”

“Do you need a cook and a dishwasher?”

Murray frowned.  “Our new hotel is nearly finished; perhaps Mrs. Gerard would accept a position as—­as hostess.”

“Hostess!  In a railroad-camp hotel!  Who ever heard of such a thing?” Eliza eyed him incredulously.

O’Neil’s flush did not go unnoticed as he said, quietly: 

“It is unusual, but we’ll try it.  She might learn to manage the business, with a competent assistant.  The salary will be ample for her and Natalie to live on.”

Eliza laid a hand timidly upon his arm and said in an altered tone: 

“Omar Khayyam, you’re a fine old Persian gentleman!  I know what it will mean to those two poor women, and I know what it will mean to you, for of course the salary will come out of your pocket.”

He smiled down at her.  “It’s the best I can offer, and I’m sure you won’t tell them.”

“Of course not.  I know how it feels to lose a fortune, too, for I’ve been through the mill—­Don’t laugh!  You have a load on your shoulders heavier than Mr. Sinbad’s, and it’s mighty nice of you to let me add to the burden.  I—­I hope it won’t break your poor back.  Now I’m going up to your bungalow and lock myself into your white bedroom, and—­”