“What’s the matter?” she taunted; “did ‘them Los Angeles girls’ fool you, too? Or am I the only one?”
“You’re the only one,” he answered ambiguously, and stood looking at her queerly.
“Well, cheer up!” she dimpled, for her mood was gay. “You’ll find another one, somewhere.”
“No I won’t,” he said; “you’re the only one, Billy. But I never looked for nothing like this.”
“Well, you told me to get onto myself and learn to play the game, and finally I took you at your word.”
“Yes,” he agreed, “I can’t say a word. But these Blackwater stiffs will sure throw it into me when they find I’ve been trimmed by a girl. The best thing I can do is to drift.”
He put his hand on the door-knob, but she knew he would not go, and he turned back with a sheepish grin.
“What do the folks think about this?” he inquired casually, and Wilhelmina made a face.
“They think I’m just awful!” she confessed. “But I don’t care–I’m tired of being poor.”
“Don’t reckon there’ll be another cloudburst, do you, about the time you get your road built?”