"Hank" Spiser's heavy lids drooped in cynical amusement. They always had some romantic tale of strict and wealthy parents, convent educations, and that sort of thing. He had heard the same a hundred times before, but, if this was a part of her game he had to play up to it, so he agreed heartily.
"It would seem to," he smiled. And continued magnanimously: "There's a corral full of horses to ride, plenty of fresh beef, milk and eggs, and when I'm not there some of the cowpunchers will see that you are kept in firewood and anything else you may need."
"You are too kind!" Nan was like a child in her glowing, unaffected animation. "This is the real Western hospitality of which I've heard. I'm so glad it's not a myth as are so many delightful things when one comes to learn the truth about them."
Fritz Poth gave Spiser a satirical look. Spiser moved uneasily in his chair, but waved his hand deprecatingly and declared:
"Oh, that's nothin'—nothin ' at all. Don't mention it again."
"When shall we go?" Nan asked the
