"Nor any other time, as far's I 'm concerned," added Tex, laughing. "We 'll do yore table full justice, Mrs. Cassidy," he assured her.
Mary, dish in hand, paused between the stove and the table. She looked at Tex with mischievous eyes: "Billy-Red tells me you love him like a brother. Is he deceiving me?"
Hopalong laughed and Tex replied, smiling: "More like a sister, Mrs. Cassidy—I can't find any faults in him, an' we don't fight."
Mary completed her journey to the stove, filled the dish and carried it to the table; resting her hands on the edge of the table, she leaned forward in seeming earnestness. "Well, you must know that we are one, and if you love Billy-Red—" finishing with an expressive gesture. "Those who love me call me Mary."
Tex's face was gravely wistful, but a wrinkle showed at the outer corner of his eyes. "Well," he drawled, "those who love me call me Tex."
"Good!" exclaimed Hopalong, grinning.
"An' I 'm thankful that my hair 's not th' color to cause any trustin' soul to call me by a more affectionate name," Tex finished. He ducked Hopalong's punch while Mary laughed a bird-like trill that brought to her husband's face an expression of idolizing happiness and made Tex smile in sympathy. As the dinner progressed Tex shared less and less in the conversation, preferring to listen and make occasional comments, and finally he spoke only when directly addressed.
When the meal was over and the two men started to go into the sitting-room, Mary said: "You 'll have to excuse me, Mr.—er—Tex," she amended, smiling saucily. "I guess you two men can take care of each other while I red up."
"We 'll certainly try hard, Mrs.—er—Mary," Tex replied, his face grave but his eyes twinkling. "We watched each other once before, you know."
As soon as they were alone Hopalong waved his companion to a chair and bluntly asked a question: "What's th' matter, Tex? You got plumb quiet at th' table."