Dorothy, her chin in her hand, gazed at Bud. She had never known him to be so intense, so earnest.
"Oh, I know it is so!" she cried. "But what can I do? I have only a little money in the bank, and father makes just enough to keep us comfortable. You see, we spent such lots of money for those horrid old doctors in the East, who didn't do me a bit of good."
"You been doin' your share just gettin' well and strong, which is savin' money. But seein' you asked me, you can do a whole lot if Lorry was to say anything to you about goin'. And you know how better'n I can tell you or your daddy or anybody."
"But Lorry must do as he thinks best. We—we are not engaged."
"'Course. And it ain't no time for a young fella to get engaged to a gal and tie up her feelin's and march off with her heart in his pocket. Mebby some day she's goin' to want it back ag'in, when he ain't livin' to fetch it back to her. I see, by the Eastern papers Torrance has been sendin' me, that some young fellas is marryin' just afore they go to jine the Frenchmen on the front. Now, what are some of them gals goin' to do if their boys don't come back? Or mebby come back crippled for life? Some of them gals is goin' to pay a mighty high price for just a few days of bein' married. It riles me to think of it."
"I hadn't thought of it—as you do," said Dorothy.
"Well, I hope you'll forgive your Uncle Bud for ragin' and rampin' around like this. I can't talk what's in my heart to folks around here. They're mostly narrow-gauge. I reckon I said enough. Let's go look at that new saddle."
"Isn't it strange," said Dorothy, "that I couldn't talk with father like this? He'd be nice, of course, but he would be thinking of just me."
"I reckon he would. And mebby some of Lorry."
"If Lorry should ask me about his going—"