"Bill Wingo."
The teetering stopped. The cigarette slipped into the fork of two fingers. The man slid to his feet.
"Bill Wingo," he repeated. "Bill Wingo, huh? Well, this is a surprise."
Without another word he left the room, closing the door behind him very gently.
When he had gone Tip O'Gorman threw a whimsical glance at Rafe Tuckleton.
"I'd feel better if he'd slammed that door," said Tip O'Gorman.
CHAPTER THREE
WHAT SALLY JANE THOUGHT
"Careless child," observed Bill Wingo, coming up on the porch where Sally Jane lay in the hammock. "You dropped your hat in the draw. I found it this morning. Here it is. Don't move, sweet one. Of course, if you asked me to sit down or didn't ask me I would, and if you felt like rustling some coffee and cake, or lemonade and doughnuts, or even just a piece of pie with a bite of cheese on the side—just a bite, not over half a pound, I don't like cheese much—I wouldn't stop you."