“Thank you for that vote of confidence. It makes me feel that I have your permission to introduce myself. My name is Bryce Cardigan, and I live in Sequoia when I'm at home.”
“Of Cardigan's Redwoods?” she questioned. He nodded. “I've heard of you, I think,” she continued. “I am Shirley Sumner.”
“You do not live in Sequoia.”
“No, but I'm going to hereafter. I was there about ten years ago.”
He grinned and thrust out a great hand which she surveyed gravely for a minute before inserting hers in it. “I wonder,” he said, “if it is to be my duty to give you a ride every time you come to Sequoia? The last time you were there you wheedled me into giving you a ride on my pony, an animal known as Midget. Do you, by any chance, recall that incident?”
She looked up at him wonderingly. “Why—why you're the boy with the beautiful auburn hair,” she declared. He lifted his hat and revealed his thick thatch in all its glory. “I'm not so sensitive about it now,” he explained. “When we first met, reference to my hair was apt to rile me.” He shook her little hand with cordial good-nature. “What a pity it wasn't possible for us to renew acquaintance on the train, Miss Sumner!”
“Better late than never, Mr. Cardigan, considering the predicament in which you found me. What became of Midget?”
“Midget, I regret to state, made a little pig of herself one day and died of acute indigestion. She ate half a sack of carrots, and knowing full well that she was eating forbidden fruit, she bolted them, and for her failure to Fletcherize—but speaking of Fletcherizing, did you dine aboard the train?”
She nodded. “So did I, Miss Sumner; hence I take it that you are quite ready to start.”
“Quite, Mr. Cardigan.”