“Let me see,” reflectively. “It generally takes an easterner who comes west to show us how to raise stock from three to five years to go broke. I believe I’ll stick around a while; I may be able to pick up something cheap a little later.”
A burst of ringing laughter interrupted this unexpected clash between the strangers. It was clear that the lack of harmony did not extend to their young companions, for the lad and the girl seemed deeply interested in each other as their ponies grazed with heads together. The immediate cause of their laughter was the boy’s declaration that when he came to see the girl he intended to wear petticoats.
When their merriment had subsided, she demanded:
“Don’t you like my overalls?”
He looked her over critically—at her face with the frank gray eyes and the vivid red of health glowing through the tan; at the long flat braid of fair hair, which hung below the cantle of the saddle; at her slender bare feet thrust through the stirrups.
“You’d look pretty in anything,” he responded gallantly.
She detected the evasion and persisted:
“But you think I’d look nicer in dresses, don’t you?”
Embarrassed, he responded hesitatingly:
“You see—down South where I come from the girls all wear white and lace and ribbon sashes and carry parasols and think a lot about their complexions. You’re just—different.”