"Why, how-do, ma'am," said Tyler, Texas fashion.
"Where you going, kid?" she asked.
Tyler blushed a little. "Well, nowhere in particular, ma'am. Just kind of milling around."
"Come on along with me," she said, and linked her arm in his.
"Why—why—thanks, but—"
And yet Texas people were always saying easterners weren't friendly. He felt a little uneasy, though, as he looked down into her smiling face. Something—
"Hello, Sweetheart!" said a voice, again. A man's voice, this time. Out of the cigar store came Gunner Moran, the yellow string of a tobacco bag sticking out of his blouse pocket, a freshly rolled cigarette between his lips.
A queer feeling of relief and gladness swept over Tyler. And then Moran looked sharply at the girl and said, "Why, hello, Blanche!"
"Hello yourself," answered the girl, sullenly.
"Thought you was in 'Frisco."