The dreamy Mexican air drifted seductively out on the sultry motionless night.
Bert looked through the window and saw Skinny lean back in his chair, his eyes closed and an expression of supreme content stealing over his face.
"Skinny's gone—he's surrendered," he said to Chuck, lying full length on the porch at his side; "look at the poor cuss with his eyes shut and grinning as if he was seeing visions of Paradise!"
"That combination would capture most anybody," Chuck answered. "I'm starting to feel affectionate myself."
Bert didn't reply, Chuck having expressed too nearly his own swelling emotions.
"Uncle Josiah!" Carolyn June called, suddenly whirling around on the piano stool as she finished the last bars of La Paloma, "may I have a horse?"
Old Heck, grown silent under the spell of the music, and, like Skinny, sitting dreaming dreams that almost frightened him, started quickly.
"A—a what?" he asked.
"A horse—" she answered, "a broncho to ride!"
"Oh, uh—sure! Skinny, go get her one!" he replied confusedly.