“Ah, I thought so. You Westerners can’t disguise yourselves. I love the West. I was born in Wyoming.” 18
Here at last was a sympathetic soul. Jim edged along a little. She sat down.
“You don’t like New York?” she queried.
“I don’t,” he replied emphatically. “It leaves me gasping for breath.”
She nodded.
“I felt like that when first I came down. I wish I were you to be going back again.”
Jim laughed.
“But I’m not going back.”
She opened her brilliant eyes and then laughed.
“I know. You’ve made a pile and are now seeing life. Is that it?”