"Is that so?" asked Bill, nonchalantly. Drawing a letter from his pocket, he handed it to the clerk. "Well, here they are!" he said.
Peters opened the letter and read it.
"Well, if I'm fired," he sighed, "I suppose I can go back to my old job."
A stealthy foot on the floor made Bill turn around to greet Zeb, who had put his head in the door.
"Got a segar for me, Bill?" Zeb whispered.
Bill went over to the drawer in the California desk, where he knew there was a box of cigars. He took one, extending it to Zeb. But the latter, looking toward the dining-room, saw Millie coming, and in spite of the fact that he wanted that cigar as desperately as he had ever wanted anything, force of habit sent him scuttling out of the room as he warned Bill, hoarsely, "Look out!"
Bill called him back. "What you 'fraid of? It's only Millie."
"Well," said Zeb, intrepid enough to grab the cigar, but not brave enough to stay, "I'll see you to-morrow, when the women-folks is working. It's safer then."
Millie rushed over and took Bill in her arms, kissing him again and again, while Bill, unused to such demonstration, tried to disengage himself.
"Did you just get here, daddy?" she asked, gazing fondly at him.