"
And thus Patches received yet another lesson--a lesson in the art of
forgetting promptly the most disagreeable features of his work--an art
very necessary to those who aspire to master real work of any sort
whatever.
When they had finished their simple meal, and lay stretched full length
beneath the overhanging limbs of the age-old tree that had witnessed so
many stirring scenes, and listened to so many camp-fire tales of ranch
and range, they talked of things other than their work. In low tones, as
men who feel a mystic and not-to-be-explained bond of fellowship--with
half-closed eyes looking out into the untamed world that lay before
them--they spoke of life, of its mystery and meaning. And Phil, usually
so silent when any conversation touched himself, and so timid always in
expressing his own self thoughts, was strangely moved to permit this man
to look upon the carefully hidden and deeper things of his life. But
upon his cherished dream--upon his great ambition--he kept the door fast
closed. The time for that revelation of himself was not yet.
"By the way, Phil," said Patches, when at last his companion signified
that it was time for them to go.
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