Overland grunted. "Because you're foolish with the heat, don't say I am, does it? Them sandwiches has gone to your head, Chico. Who said she did smoke?"
Louise, grave-eyed, watched the two men, Overland sullen and scowling, Collie fierce and flaming.
"We ain't used to—to real ladies," apologized Overland. "We could do better if we practiced up."
"Of course!" said Louise, smiling. "But the poetry."
"U-m-m, yes. The po'try. What'll I give her, Collie?"
"I don't care," replied the boy. "You might try 'Casey Jones.' It's better'n anything you ever wrote."
"That? I guess not! That ain't her style. I mean one of my own—somethin' good."
"Oh, I don't know. 'Toledo Blake,'" mumbled Collie.
"Nope! But I guess the 'Grand Old Privilege' will do for a starter."
"Oh, good!" And Louise clapped her hands. "The title is splendid. Is the poem original?"