She made as if to rise immediately, but Halfaman grasped the chair, and of course she could not rise and leave the chair to withstand these indignities alone.
“Don’t you believe me? You know you do! Why’m I here?—tell me that. Why’d I ramble West?—tell me that!”
“Maybe Lil o’ the Lobbies could.”
“Aw, now, sweetheart, that ain’t fair! You know that’s all past. Listen: I got somethin’ to tell you.”
“Yeah? Where’ve I heard that before?”
“Now listen. You think I’m kiddin’ you. How ’bout that little Squawtooth girl?”
“Oh, it’s her now, is it? You big stiff—she wouldn’t use you for a doormat!”
“Maybe not; maybe not. Just the same, you’re all wrong again. She likes you. She slipped it to me that she did, to-day when I was at the ranch. Did she ever say anything to you ’bout me?”
“Her! About you! Say, this is good! Why, say, Halfaman—she can’t talk about anything else.”
Halfaman removed his broken-visored cap and scratched his head. “You’re kiddn’ me again,” he decided. “But did she?”