"
"Well, they raise fighting men in the San Gregorio, at any rate," her
father continued. "Two Medal-of-Honor men came out of it. Old Don
Miguel Farrel's boy was awarded one posthumously. I was in El Toro the
day the commanding general of the Western Department came down from San
Francisco and pinned the medal on old Don Miguel's breast. The old
fellow rode in on his son's horse, and when the little ceremony was
over, he mounted and rode back to the ranch alone. Not a tear, not a
quiver. He looked as regal as the American eagle--and as proud.
Looking at that old don, one could readily imagine the sort of son he
had bred. The only trouble with the Farrels," he added, critically,
"was that they and work never got acquainted. If these old
Californians would consent to imbibe a few lessons in industry and
economy from their Japanese neighbors, their wonderful state would be
supporting thirty million people a hundred years from now."
"I wonder how many of that mythical thirty millions would be Japs?" she
queried, innocently.
"That is a problem with which we will not have to concern ourselves,
Kay, because we shall not be here."
"Some day, popsy-wops, that soldier will drop in at our ranch and lock
horns with you on the Japanese question."
"When he does," Parker replied, good-naturedly, "I shall make a
star-spangled monkey out of him. I'm loaded for these Californians.
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