“How did you get such a splotch?” inquired Helen, going closer.
“I’ve been kissed!” exclaimed Dorothy, dramatically.
“What?” queried Helen, more curiously, while the others laughed.
“I’ve been kissed—hugged and kissed by one of those shameless cowboys! It was so pitch-dark outside I couldn’t see a thing. And so noisy I couldn’t hear. But somebody was trying to help me off my horse. My foot caught in the stirrup, and away I went—right into somebody’s arms. Then he did it, the wretch! He hugged and kissed me in a most awful bearish manner. I couldn’t budge a finger. I’m simply boiling with rage!”
When the outburst of mirth subsided Dorothy turned her big, dilated eyes upon Florence.
“Do these cowboys really take advantage of a girl when she’s helpless and in the dark?”
“Of course they do,” replied Florence, with her frank smile.
“Dot, what in the world could you expect?” asked Helen. “Haven’t you been dying to be kissed?”
“No.”
“Well, you acted like it, then. I never before saw you in a rage over being kissed.”