As I made no reply to this she continued to guide the conversation.
"I think you are a damn good sport to break away at your age," she went on. "And it would be a crime to send you back to the corral. I know just how it must feel."
"I bet you do!" said the Dick person. "After the ranch!"
"You see, he means our home ranch," the girl explained. "Pa has kept me there since I was a seedling. Never been away from it until three weeks ago—kept me pure and healthy and everything. But I've got fed up on it, and I'm glad to get loose and see life, even with you tagging along. Tell you what I'll do. So long as you've got your camp all broke I'll help you to see the world if you'll help me to see the world instead of preventing it. I'll be reasonable if you will. Are you on?"
"I am!" said I, half hypnotized by her charm. "I'm on!"
"Good! It's a bet!" cried Peaches, suddenly shaking my hand with a grip of most unladylike vigor. "Now let's dope this out some more. I've bought all the clothes in the stores in San Francisco, at least all costing over a hundred dollars each, as befits my new society stunt, so we ought to start right off and go some place where we know somebody besides the head waiters. Do you really know a lot of swells?"
"I—well, really—I know the proper people, of course," said I. "But I don't think that you would fancy Boston very much."
"Oh, Boston is all O. K." she said. "Only, of course, it's not like San Francisco—or even Fresno. No pep, and a rotten climate. Don't you know any gay ducks some other place?"
"Well, let me cogitate the matter," said I. "I know the Loringstons, in New York—two charming maiden ladies."
"Hold me—or I'll die of excitement!" said Peaches. "Nothing doing! If I've got to be pushed into the world of fashion and gayety I want there to be some class to it—snappy stuff—titles and everything. Do you know any titles?"