"Day-after-tomorrow, just getting the run of the ropes while Maud's there, but my pay doesn't start for nearly three weeks. Maud's vacation begins Saturday; she's allowed two weeks off with pay, and she's already arranged for one of the other girls in the office to fill her job. It's the custom for one to relieve the other. So Maud and I are going to visit her brother's family, down on his ranch somewhere between here and the Nation. Maud's impatient to get down there and ride around. She's a regular cowgirl—she was brought up on a big ranch."
"She sure steps along like a fresh-air lady. I always ad-mire that girl's gait."
"She's already spoken for, Tom; your case is hopeless."
"Ma'am?" Tom's blood was hot in his cheeks. He seemed to be mentally tip-toeing away from her, in his questioning, deferential, easily frustrated way.
"She's going to marry Mr. Cook, the baggage smasher."
"You don't tell me?" in expression of wonderment far greater than the subject, or Tom's own conscience, justified. "I've seen the gentleman," he continued, beginning to grow easy again, "enterin' a blue house down by the railroad yards."
"He lives there with his mother."
"He walks like a sheriff," said Tom, "with his chin held out from him so he can see his mustache."
"I never have made a study of the gait of sheriffs," Louise said, "but I fail to discover any of the fine
