Abbott laughed as light-heartedly as if the road were not calling them away from solitudes, "Well, what did you wish, Fran?"
"That you might always be my friend, while we're together, and after we part."
"It doesn't take a new bridge to make that come true," he declared.
She looked at him solemnly. "Do you understand the responsibilities of being a friend? A friend has to assume obligations, just as when a man's elected to office, he must represent his party and his platform."
"I'll stand for you!" Abbott cried earnestly.
"Will you? Then I'm going to tell you all about myself—ready to be surprised? Friends ought to know each other. In the first place, I am eighteen years old, and in the second place I am a professional lion- trainer, and in the third place my father is—but friends don't have to know each other's fathers. Besides, maybe that's enough to start with."
"Yes," said Abbott, "it is." He paused, but she could not guess his emotions, for his face showed nothing but a sort of blankness. "I should like to take this up seriatim. You tell me you are eighteen years old?"
"—And have had lots of experience."
"Your lion-training: has it been theoretical, or—"
"Mercenary," Fran responded; "real lions, real bars, real spectators, real pay-days."