“I don’t know.”
“I do. Dextry told her.”
Glenister arose. “That’s all I want to hear now. I’m going crazy. My mind aches, for I’ve never had a fight like this before and it hurts. You see, I’ve been an animal all these years. When I wanted to drink, I drank, and what I wanted, I got, because I’ve been strong enough to take it. This is new to me. I’m going down-stairs now and try to think of something else—then I’m going home.”
When he had gone she pulled back the curtains, and, leaning her chin in her hands, with elbows on the ledge, gazed down upon the crowd. The show was over and the dance had begun, but she did not see it, for she was thinking rapidly with the eagerness of one who sees the end of a long and weary search. She did not notice the Bronco Kid beckoning to her nor the man with him, so the gambler brought his friend along and invaded her box. He introduced the man as Mr. Champian.
“Do you feel like dancing?” the new-comer inquired.
“No; I’d rather look on. I feel sociable. You’re a society man, Mr. Champian. Don’t you know anything of interest? Scandal or the like?”
“Can’t say that I do. My wife attends to all that for the family. But I know there’s lots of it. It’s funny to me, the airs some of these people assume up here, just as though we weren’t all equal, north of Fifty-three. I never heard the like.”
“Anything new and exciting?” inquired Bronco, mildly interested.
“The last I heard was about the Judge’s niece, Miss Chester.”
Cherry Malotte turned abruptly, while the Kid slowly lowered the front legs of his chair to the floor.