Dear, foolish old Phil--I shall miss him dreadfully." "Yes," he said significantly, "you will miss him.

The life you are going to does not produce Phil Actons." "It produced an Honorable Patches," she retorted slyly.
"Indeed it did _not_," he answered quickly.

"It produced--" He checked himself, as though fearing that he would say too much.
"But what have Phil and his wild horse to do with the question ?" she asked.
"Nothing, I fear.

Only I feel about your going away as Phil felt when he gave the wild horse its freedom." "I don't think I understand," she said, genuinely puzzled.
"I said you would not," he retorted bluntly, "and that's why you are leaving all this." His gesture indicated the vast sweep of country with old Granite Mountain in the distance.
Then, with a nod and a look he indicated Professor Parkhill, who was walking toward them along the side of the ridge skirting the scattered cedar timber.

"Here comes a product of the sort of culture to which you aspire.