“We’ll leave it that a’way till his back cools out,” said he, “You’ve sure warmed him up.”
He turned an approving glance upon the girl as she stood rubbing Dickens’ dun-colored nose.
“You look good Miss Helen,” he said. “I’d begun to be afraid they’d educated all the life an’ brightness out’n you back there to your eastern college. I guess, though, you’ll get over it in time.”
“Get over the education, Sandy?” she suggested, mischievously; she and Sandy had been pals since her babyhood.
“I’d be sorry if I should,” she added. “Think what a loss it would be.”
“Yes,” he assented, gravely, “It sure would. They’s the prices of a right smart o’ good polo ponies gone into polishin’ you off like you be.”
“I was comin’ to think,” he went on, his face awakening genially, “that you was most likely pinin’ for them shiny pursuits more’n you allowed for when you first come back.”
“Not a bit of it, Sandy!” Helen’s tone was emphatic, “I enjoyed every moment at college; but I came back to the desert knowing perfectly well that this is the best place in the world.”
Her hearty tone satisfied even his jealous ears. The girl had stooped to caress Patsy, who lay panting on the sand, his tongue fluttering like a little red signal-flag. Her eyes were bright and happy, her cheeks touched to a brilliant glow by her run with Dickens. Sandy nodded again.
“Yes,” he said, “I guess it ain’t hurt you none.”