"No," said Billy, when Riley, having put his horse in the corral, made
as if to step over him. "You stay right here. She's busy. She
doesn't want a long, lazy lump like you clutterin' up her nice clean
kitchen. Sidown on the step next mine. I don't care how close you
sit."
"But I do," returned Riley, seating himself opposite his friend. "Last
time I sat next you I lost my tobacco. Good thing my watch wasn't on
that side."
"Shucks, that watch!" Bill said scornfully. "It was good maybe when
your grandad had it. It must have cost him two dollars easy."
"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."
"Sure not," slipped in Billy. "Why, I don't believe Samson makes a bit
more than fifty per cent on everything he sells."
"You two think you're smart, don't you. He's a nice man, Mr. Samson
is, and he spends an evening here quite often."
"He never spends anything else," said Billy.
"Cheap wit," flung back Hazel.
"Almost as cheap as Samson," tucked in Riley.
Hazel's eyes were beginning to sparkle, and Billy seized his
opportunity. "Here, here, Riley, stop it! Don't you lemme hear you
making any more slurs against Mr. Samson. He's a friend of mine,
and----"
"Oh, you!" cried Hazel, instantly regaining her good humor. "You're as
bad as Riley, every bit. But you almost did get a rise out of me. I
don't like to hear my friends run down."
"I didn't mean it--anything," said Riley, with well-feigned humbleness.
"I like Samson, I do, the poor old good-for-nothing lump of
slumgullion."
Billy shook a sorrowful head. "Honest, Hazel, I'm ashamed of you,
robbing the grave thataway."
"I don't believe he's much over sixty, Bill," said Riley.
"Say sixty-one."
"He's forty-one, if you must know," Hazel said.
"I knew it was getting serious," mourned Billy. "They're exchanging
birthdays. We'll have to find us a new girl, Riley."
"Not me. I'm satisfied. I'll stick to the last shout and a li'l
beyond. Hazel's only fooling these other fellers. I'll make her the
best husband in four counties, and she's the girl that knows it. Don't
you, Hazel?"
"I'm not that hard up," replied the girl, with a smile that belied the
harshness of her words.
"There, you hear?" chuckled Billy. "Now you'll be good, I guess."
"If you won't have me for the twenty-fourth time hand-running, why not
take Bill here? He's a good feller, don't drink much, and he's got a
heart of gold and a brand of his own--six horses and one calf at the
last round-up. Besides, if all that ain't enough, he's gonna be our
next sheriff. What more could a girl want?"
"She'd want him to ask her first," said Hazel, not a whit put out.
Riley turned to Billy in mock surprise. "Ain't you asked her yet,
Bill? Shucks, whatsa matter with you? You make me sick, and she don't
like it either. G'on--propose. I'm with you. We all are. And she
expects it, can't you see? G'on, Tommy Tucker, sing for your supper."
But Tommy Tucker firmly refused to sing. Instead he seized the jibing
Mr. Tyler by the ankle and skidded him off the step.
"Ow-wow! You poor flap!" bawled the erstwhile humorist, who had picked
up a splinter. "Leggo my leg, or I'll roll you!"
But it was Riley Tyler who was rolled, and rolled thoroughly.
"You boys stop that!" directed Hazel, appearing in the doorway with a
bucket. "Acting just like overgrown kids! You ought to be ashamed!
Bill, I'll take that bucket of water now, and Riley, how about fetching
in an armful of wood for your auntie?"
The two men started to obey, but stopped short in their tracks.