III
WHEN Ken awoke, Mr. Lowell had already departed. It was long past noon, the western sun was already slanting into the bedroom, with its plaster monk enshrined in a niche opposite Ken's bed. The monk regarded his own round belly with suitable piety and Ken mused upon the strange difference between his own life of this day to come and his past life.
For he was quiet, composed, rested. The long night was gone. This day was to begin his career.
Kari it was who informed him that "Missee Lowell he is gone away, with suitable orders to you." These orders included a rub-down and massage, far more soothing than any Ken had received from "Bones" Trotter, the Selma High trainer. When Kari was through with him, in accordance with Mr. Lowell's instructions, a certain Seward Pawne appeared, announced himself as the assistant to Mr. Lowell's private secretary and explained that Ken was to visit Marchiotti, the tailor.
Mr. Pawne was English, exceedingly self-effacing, with a round, pudgy expression of contentment and a deferential attitude.
"Mr. Lowell is very thorough-going," he said. "He has told me exactly how to entertain you during his absence."
And thus Ken saw Southern California. Long rides into the mountains, Johnson at the wheel. Horseback up bridle-
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