Again there was a silence. Then——
“Do you think he’s a pretty good looker, ma’am?”
“I think he is handsome!” Again the girl blushed.
And again Linton grinned. He cleared his throat before he again spoke:
“Well,” he drawled; “mebbe I wouldn’t go that far. Mostly I don’t care for a handsome man, anyway. I wouldn’t say he’s ugly, an’ I won’t say he’s handsome. I’d light on a spot about halfway between them two extremes. I’d say he ain’t a bad looker. That would be about right.”
“He is handsome, Linton!”
“Well, likely he is—to a woman. I’ve heard that there’s been women which thought him a heap good lookin’.”
“Where, Linton?” she asked, quickly.
“Why, in Pardo, ma’am. There was a biscuit shooter in a eatin’-house there that was sure wild about Harlan—she followed him around a heap.”
“He didn’t have anything to do with her, Linton?” she questioned, stiffening.