under the little naughty hat of black velvet pulled low over the
eyes.

Mary's dark eyes flashed with joy at the sight, and with a swift
little run she caught the other girl in her arms and kissed her in
a breast-crushing embrace. She released her, blushing at her own
extravagance.

"You look good to me," she cried, in extenuation. "If I was a man I
couldn't keep my hands off you. I'd eat you, I sure would."

They went out of the pavilion hand in hand, and on through the sunshine
they strolled, swinging hands gaily, reacting exuberantly from the week
of deadening toil. They hung over the railing of the bear-pit, shivering
at the huge and lonely denizen, and passed quickly on to ten minutes of
laughter at the monkey cage. Crossing the grounds, they looked down into
the little race track on the bed of a natural amphitheater where the
early afternoon games were to take place. After that they explored the
woods, threaded by countless paths, ever opening out in new surprises
of green-painted rustic tables and benches in leafy nooks, many of
which were already pre-empted by family parties. On a grassy slope,
tree-surrounded, they spread a newspaper and sat down on the short grass
already tawny-dry under the California sun. Half were they minded to
do this because of the grateful indolence after six days of insistent
motion, half in conservation for the hours of dancing to come.

"Bert Wanhope'll be sure to come," Mary chattered. "An' he said he was
going to bring Billy Roberts--'Big Bill,' all the fellows call him. He's
just a big boy, but he's awfully tough. He's a prizefighter, an' all the
girls run after him. I'm afraid of him. He ain't quick in talkin'. He's
more like that big bear we saw. Brr-rf! Brr-rf!--bite your head
off, just like that. He ain't really a prize-fighter. He's a
teamster--belongs to the union. Drives for Coberly and Morrison. But
sometimes he fights in the clubs. Most of the fellows are scared of him.
He's got a bad temper, an' he'd just as soon hit a fellow as eat, just
like that. You won't like him, but he's a swell dancer. He's heavy,
you know, an' he just slides and glides around. You wanta have a dance
with'm anyway. He's a good spender, too. Never pinches. But my!--he's
got one temper."

The talk wandered on, a monologue on Mary's part, that centered always
on Bert Wanhope.

"You and he are pretty thick," Saxon ventured.

"I'd marry'm to-morrow," Mary flashed out impulsively. Then her fac