CHAPTER THREE.
REALITY IS WEIGHED AND FOUND WANTING Still dreaming her dreams, still featuring herself as the star of many adventures, Lorraine followed the brakeman out of the dusty day coach and down the car steps to the platform of the place called Echo, Idaho.
I can only guess at what she expected to find there in the person of a cattle-king father, but whatever it was she did not find it.

No father, of any type whatever, came forward to claim her.

In spite of her "Western" experience she looked about her for a taxi, or at least a street car.

Even in the wilds of Western melodrama one could hear the clang of street-car gongs warning careless autoists off the track.
After the train had hooted and gone on around an absolutely uninteresting low hill of yellow barrenness dotted with stunted sage, it was the silence that first impressed Lorraine disagreeably.

Echo, Idaho, was a very poor imitation of all the Western sets she had ever seen.
True, it had the straggling row of square-fronted, one-story buildings, with hitch rails, but the signs painted across the fronts were absolutely common.