“They do indeed,” concurred Roderick, with heartily responsive enthusiasm.
“And I’m going to make this dairy stock business pay to beat the band,” she added, her face fairly aglow. “Just give me another year or two.”
“You certainly deserve success,” affirmed Roderick, emphatically.
“Oh, I don’t know. But I do try so hard.”
Her beautiful face had sweet wistfulness in it now. Roderick was admiring its swift expressive changes—he was saying to himself that he could read the soul of this splendidly frank young woman like a book. He felt thrilled and exalted.
“But here comes Papa,” exclaimed Gail, springing delightedly to her feet
Roderick’s spirits dropped like a plummet. At such an interesting psychological moment he could have wished the old General far enough.
But there was a pleasant smile on his face as Gail presented him, genuine admiration in the responsive pressure of his hand as he gazed into the veteran’s handsome countenance and thanked him for his cordial welcome.
“Glad to meet you, Mr. Warfield,” General Holden was saying. “My friend Shields has spoken mighty well of you, and Gail here says you have the finest baritone voice in all Wyoming.”
“Oh, Daddie!” cried Gail, in blushing confusion.