"Alla same, that's a good watch." Riley returned tranquilly. "It only loses thirty minutes a day now since I had it fixed. Say, Hazel, lemme throw this jigger out, will you? He's only sliming round to mooch a bid to dinner."
"I've asked him to stay," smiled Hazel, "but I don't remember saying anything about it to you."
"You didn't. I said I was coming. Here I am. What's fairer than that, I'd like to know? As I was sayin' before you interrupted, I saw you out ridin' last Sunday."
"Did you?" indifferently.
"Yeah—with that nice old Samson man."
"He's not old," Hazel denied vigorously, "and anyway, he's nice."
"He gives her lollypops," Riley confided to Billy, "and sometimes as much as half-a-pound of chalklet creams. Oh, he's a prince."
Hazel stamped a small foot. "It wasn't half-a-pound. It was—it was—" Her voice dwindled away.
"Say a pound," offered Billy, entering into the spirit of the thing, "and that's a generous estimate."
"Almost as generous as Samson," grinned Riley. "Hazel, go easy on the poor old feller. He can't afford to be givin' you expensive presents like that."