“Did Dusty hurt you? Can I do anything for you? Tell me. I’d be so glad to. Let me get you a drink.”
Like a flash, she was off at her own suggestion to the kitchen. His impulse was to go at once, but he could not escape his past and be deliberately discourteous to a woman whose only desire was to help him. He waited, sullenly, for her return. Why could she not let him alone? All he asked of the Diamond Bar K was for it to let him get away and forget it as soon as possible.
When the girl came back, it was with a pitcher and a glass. The outside of the jug was beaded with moisture. From within came the pleasant tinkle of ice.
Betty filled the tumbler with lemonade.
The vagabond had no desire to accept the hospitality of the ranch, but he found it impossible to affront her churlishly again.
“Thank you,” he said, and drank.
The drink was refreshing. Two fresh-beaten eggs had been stirred into it for nutrition.
“Another?” she begged, and poured without waiting for an answer.
The ghost of a smile crept into his eyes. It was the first hint of wholesome humor she had yet seen in him. He offered her, with a little bow, a quotation.
“‘I can no other answer make, but thanks,