He nodded. He would be able to do it tomorrow.
She smiled, and with the flash of her teeth and something of gamin roguishness in her expression, the feeling that he had seen her before—knew her—grew stronger. He eyed her, puzzled, and seeing the look, she grinned in gay amusement.
"I guess you know me, a good many people do. But my make-up's new—dirt. Water's too valuable to use for washing."
He was not quite sure yet, and his expression showed it. That made her laugh, a mischievous note.
"Ain't you ever been to the Albion, young man?"
"Oh!" he breathed. "Why, of course—Pancha Lopez!"
"Come on then," she cried; "now we're introduced. Come up while I write the ad."
She drew away from the fence while he wheeled his bicycle in through a break in the pickets. As she moved along the path in front of him, she called back:
"We're up here in the barn, our castle on the hill. It mayn't look much from the outside, but it's roomy and the view's fine. Better than being crowded into the houses with the people sleeping on the floors. They'd have taken us in, any of 'em, but we chose the barn—quieter and more air. My pa's with me." She turned and threw a challenging glance at him. "You didn't know I had a pa? Well, I have and a good one." Then she raised her voice and called: "Pa, hello! I've corralled a man who'll take that ad."
From the open door of the barn a man of burly figure appeared. He nodded to Mark, bluffly friendly.