The beginning hinted
at things. It was as if she doubted the reality of the name
he gave, and meant to conceal her doubt, or had heard
something amusing about him, or wished to be friends with
him, or was secretly timorous and trying to appear merely
indifferent. Or perhaps----
She replaced the letters and turned, and rested her hands on
the counter. She looked at him and again her lips turned at
the corners in that faint, enigmatical beginning of a smile.
"There isn't a thing," she said. "The mail comes this noon
again. Do you want yours sent out to any of the outfits? Or
shall I just hold it?"
"Just hold it, when there is any. At least, until I see
whether I land a job here. I wonder where I could find the
boss?" Bud was glancing often at her hands. For a ranch girl
her hands were soft and white, but her fingers were a bit too
stubby and her nails were too round and flat.
"Uncle Dave will be home at noon. He's out in the meadow with
the boys. You might sit down and wait."
Bud looked at his watch. Sitting down and waiting for four
hours did not appeal to him, even supposing the girl would
keep him company. But he lingered awhile, leaning with his
elbows on the counter near her; and by those obscure little
conversational trails known to youth, he progressed
considerably in his acquaintance with the girl and made her
smile often without once feeling quite certain that he knew
what was in her mind.
Pages:
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120