As it happened, Mrs. Hardy was at the gate. She greeted Dave cordially
enough; it was not possible for Mrs. Hardy to quite forget her
conventional training, just as it was not possible for her to quite
forget that Dave was a one-time cow puncher. Encouraged by her mood
Irene determined to settle the Sunday programme at once.
"Dave was good enough to bring me up in his car," she said. "And just
think! He invites us to drive into the foothills with him next Sunday.
Will you come? It will be delightful. Or are you feeling----"
"Mr. Elden is very kind," said Mrs. Hardy, with dignity. "I have no
doubt Mr. Conward will accompany us. He is to call this evening, and I
will ask him. . . . Yes, I think it very likely we will go."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The summer wore on, and autumn followed on its heels. The processes
which had been discerned by Conward and other astute operators were now
apparent to the mob which forever follows in the wake of the
successful, but usually at such a distance as to be overwhelmed in the
receding flood. The forces which had built up fabulous fortunes were
now in reverse gear, and the same mechanism that had built up was now
tearing down. As the boom had fed upon itself, carrying prices to
heights justifiable only to the most insane optimism, so did the
subsequent depression bear down upon values until they reached depths
justifiable only to the most abandoned despondency.
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