“It’s a heap better’n Melba’s.”
“Also”–Hairoil fidgited some–“you know, a-course, that she’s been tackin’ up photographs of op’ra singers and actresses in her room––”
“Wal, what’s the harm?”
“And–and practicin’ bows in front of a glass.”
I begun t’ see what he was drivin’ at.
“And whilst you was away, she had a talk with the station-agent–about rates East.”
“Hairoil! You don’t mean it!” I says. I tell y’, it was just like a red-hot iron ’d been stuck down my wind-pipe and was a-burnin’ the lower end offen my breast-bone!
“I’m sorry, ole man.” He reached out a hand. “But we thought you oughta know.” And then he left me.
So that was it! And she’d been keepin’ me in the dark about it all–whilst ev’ry fence post from the Bar Y t’ Briggs knowed what was happenin’! Wal, I was mad clean through.
Then I begun t’ see that I’d been a blamed fool. A fine, high-strung gal!–and I’d been orderin’ her ’round like I owned her! And I’d gone away on that ride without tryin’ t’ make up. Wal, I’d druv her to it.