«I'm down from Nome,» he went on with anxious seriousness. «I scraped together a pretty good lot of dust up there, and brought it down with me.»
«Oh, say!» she rippled, pursuing persiflage with engaging lightness, «then you must be on the White Wings force. I thought I'd seen you somewhere.»
«You didn't see me on the street to–day when I saw you.»
«I never look at fellows on the street.»
«Well, I looked at you; and I never looked at anything before that I thought was half as pretty.»
«Shall I keep the change?»
«Yes, I reckon so. I reckon you could keep anything I've got. I reckon I'm what you would call a rough man, but I could be awful good to anybody I liked. I've had a rough time of it up yonder, but I beat the game. Nearly 5,000 ounces of dust was what I cleaned up while I was there.»
«Goodness!» exclaimed Miss Colby, obligingly sympathetic. «It must be an awful dirty place, wherever it is.»
And then her eyes closed. The voice of the Man from Nome had a monotony in its very earnestness. Besides, what dull talk was this of brooms and sweeping and dust? She leaned her head back against the wall.
«Miss,» said the Man from Nome, with deeper earnestness and monotony, «I never saw anybody I liked as well as I do you. I know you can't think that way of me right yet; but can't you give me a chance? Won't you let me know you, and see if I can't make you like me?»