“You mean—”
“—Helen. I’m feelin’ well enough acquainted with her now to call her Helen. Whatever else we disagree on, Bruce, it looks as though we had the same taste when it comes to girls.”
“You know her?” Bruce’s tone was as incredulous as his face.
Burt answered with a wry smile:
“After you’ve ridden on the back seat of that Beaver Creek stage with a person and bumped heads every fifteen feet for a hundred miles, you’re not apt to feel like strangers when you get in.”
Bruce almost shouted—
“She’s in Ore City!”
“She was.”
Bruce fell back into his old attitude at the table, but his father stepped quickly to the door and an instant later threw it open. At his side was Helen—with outstretched arms and face aglow, her eyes shining happily.
Bruce had not known that great and sudden joy could make a person dizzy, but the walls, the floor, everything, seemed to waver as he leaped to his feet.