A DAY IN SEPTEMBER A September day in Alberta.

There is no other day to be compared to it in any other month or in any other land.

Other lands have their September days, and Alberta has days in other months, but the combination of September day in Alberta is sui generis.

The foothill country with plain, and hill, and valley, and mighty mountain, laced with stream, and river, and lake; the over-arching sheet of blue with cloud shapes wandering and wistful, the kindly sun pouring its genial sheen of yellow and gold over the face of the earth below, purple in the mountains and gold and pearly grey, and all swimming in air blown through the mountain gorges and over forests of pine, tingling with ozone and reaching the heart and going to the head like new wine--these things go with a September day in Alberta.
And like new wine the air seemed to Jack Romayne as the Packard like a swallow skimmed along the undulating prairie trail, smooth, resilient, of all the roads in the world for motor cars the best.

For that day at least and in that motor car life seemed good to Jack Romayne.