“Why Beebe?”
“Oh, very well then! Because of the little eohippus, you know—and other things you said.”
“I see!” said the aggrieved Bransford. “Because I’m not from Ohio, like Beebe, I’m not supposed——”
“Oh, if you’re going to be fussy! I’m from California myself, Mr. Bransford. Out in the country at that. Don’t let’s quarrel, please. We were having such a lovely time. And I’ll tell you a secret. It’s ungrateful of me, and I ought not to; but I don’t care—I don’t like Mr. Lake much since we came on this trip. And I don’t believe——” She paused, pinkly conscious of the unconventional statement involved in this sudden unbelief.
“——what Lake says about us?” A much-mollified Bransford finished the sentence for her.
She nodded. Then, to change the subject:
“You do speak cowboy talk one minute—and all booky, polite and proper the next, you know. Why?”
“Bad associations,” said Bransford ambiguously. “Also for ’tis my nature to, as little dogs they do delight to bark and bite. That beef sure tastes like more.”
“And now you may smoke while I pack up,” announced the girl when dessert was over, at long last. “And please, there is something I want to ask you about. Will you tell me truly?”