“Ho, I suppose you were too taken up sayin’ ’em about yourself.”
Matt reddened uncomfortably, but was silent.
“The gal seems to know a powerful deal about you, anyway,” said old Coble, with a Homeric chuckle.
“We had to talk about something,” Matt explained, apologetically.
“Well, Rosie doesn’t ’pear to want to talk about anything else, that’s a fact. I reckon she was glad enough not to be reminded of the snivellin’ Frenchy.”
“Oh, but I’ve got to tell her,” the young man urged, uneasily.
“Oh yes, she knows you’ve got to tell her. You’re coming to-night, aren’t you?”
“I thought of it,” Matt stammered, taken aback, “if I might!”
“Ho, don’t you be afraid of us; we don’t bite. We ain’t sharks.” He spat out. “This gritty atmosphere makes one powerful dry.”
Matt had an instant of intense mental conflict, impecuniosity contending with his instinct of what was due to the situation and Coble’s past hospitalities.