"Never—if it will make you happy."
Overland Red, sitting on a boulder beside the road, stooped and gathered up a handful of pebbles. Then, for lack of other interest, he invented a game of ancient and honorable origin. "She loves me," he said tossing away a pebble. "She loves me not." And up spun another pebble. So he continued until the pebbles were gone. "She loves me not," he muttered lugubriously. Then his face brightened. "Of course she don't. She loves him. That's what I was tryin' to get at, anyway."
He fumbled at a huge bunch of little red flowers called "Hummingbird's Trumpets." He arranged the hastily constructed bouquet to suit him. Then he laid it on the rock.
"Accordin' to the latest book on good table-manners, or 'How to Be Happy Though Dressed Up,' this here bouquet is the proper thing. They'll think I'm some wiz' when I step out and present these here hummin'birds' bugles. Huh! I seen the two bosses gone, and I gets wise direct. But I got to brace up. Wonder what she'll think about me—after hearin' what I said last night at the Old Meadow? Gee! I wonder what I did say? Did I cuss much? I forget. H-m-m. Good-mornin', folks! I—er—This here—Them hummin'birds' bugles—flowers—Happy day—Collie, what's wrong with you? What you laughin' at?"
"You, of course. Where did you get the posies?"
"Picked 'em along the Golden Shore. Just got back."
"You do look scared, Red."
"Seein' you're gettin' personal—you needn't to think because you just been there that I never will."
"Say, Overland—I—we—" began Collie.