“Oh, Fred—Fred Benton.”
“Well, Mr. Fred, I don’t like you one bit”; her tone was mischievous.
“Why not?”
“You broke your promise with me. Why didn’t you come to our dance?”
“Oh—well—I! really, Miss Morgan—I—”
“There now, no excuses, you didn’t want to come.”
“Please let me explain.”
“Well, I was out hunting, you remember, and in my scouting up through the foothills, I ran on to an old mountaineer. I got so interested listening to his stories, that, before I realized it, it was sundown and when I reached home it was so late I was ashamed to go to the dance; but really I wanted to go.”
“Not very much, I’m afraid.”