sk, included hat and book in one grab, and darted towards the door
through which Hansen had just disappeared. Here he paused, tilting, and
his smile twinkled at them with understanding. "Good-night, Miss Neal.
Hope you have a good time, Vic." His heel clicked twice on the steps
outside, and then the patter of his racing feet across the field.

"The little mischief!" said Betty, delightfully flushed. "It beats
everything, Vic, how Alder takes things for granted."

He should have taken her in his arms and kissed her, now that she had
cleared the room, he very well knew, but the obvious thing was always
last to come in Gregg's repertoire.

"Why not take it for granted? It ain't going to be many days, now."

He watched her eyes sparkle, but the pleasure of seeing him drowned the
gleam almost at once.

"Are you really almost through? Oh, Vic, you've been away so long, and
I--" She checked herself. There was no overflow of sentiment in Betty.

"Maybe I was a fool for laying off work this way," he admitted, "but I
sure got terrible lonesome up there."

Her glance went over him contentedly, from the hard brown hands to the
wrinkle which labor had sunk in the exact center of his forehead. He was
all man, to Betty.

"Come on along," he said. He would kiss her by surprise as they reached
the door. "Come on along. It's sure enough spring outside. I been eating
it up, and--we can do our talking over things at the dance. Let's ride
now."

"Dance?"

"Sure, down to Singer's place."

"It's going to be kind of hard to get out of going with Blondy. He asked
me."

"And you said you'd go?"

"What are you flarin' up about?"

"Look here, how long have you been traipsin' around with Blondy Hansen?"

She clenched one hand beside her in a way he knew, but it pleased him
more than it warned him, just as it pleased him to see the ears of Grey
Molly go back.

"What's wrong about Blondy Hansen?"

"What's right about him?" he countered senselessly.

Her voice went a bit shrill. "Blondy is a gentleman, I'll have you
know."

"Is he?"

"Don't you sneer at me, Victor Gregg. I won't have it!"

"You won't, eh?"

He felt that he was pushing her to the danger point, but she was
perfectly, satisfyingly beautiful in her anger; he taunted her with the
pleasure of an artist painting a picture.

"I won't!" she repeated. Something else came to her lips, but she
repressed it, and he could see the pressure from within telling.

"Don'