Nell drew from the pocket of her abbreviated skirt a jackknife that would have delighted the heart of any boy. With an implement in this she removed the stone in a twinkling.
“There!” Nell said. “Let him rest here a minute, and he’ll be all right. The old four-flusher! He isn’t hurt a mite, but he’d like to have you think so,” and she slapped the pony resoundingly.
“I’m awfully much obliged to you, Miss Blossom.”
“No need to be. And no need to call me ‘Miss.’”
“Oh—well—Nell, if you like it better,” Betty rejoined with a most disarming smile. “I thank you.”
“That’s all right,” said Nell in her brusque, but not altogether unfriendly, way. “I say, Miss Hunt!”
Betty interrupted with: “Betty, if you please, Nell.”
“Oh! All right,” the singer said, the more friendly light sparkling in her eyes again. “What I wanted to ask you is, is that suit you got on really what they all wear in the East?”
“Yes. Since nearly every one rides astride now, the habit is made mannish.”
“Well, I’ve straddled a hoss ever since I can remember, but I never seen anything but a skirt and bloomers or a divided skirt like this on women before. But I must say them things you wear are plumb fetching.”