e, "I got him to say all he ever says to any
girl--'Yes-indeed!'--so you couldn't have any more conversation from
him. If you want to look at him, why, there he is in plain sight.
Besides, I want to talk to you myself."

"Do you always get what you want?" inquired the girl.

Orde laughed.

"Any one can get anything he wants, if only he wants it bad enough," he
asserted.

The girl pondered this for a moment, and finally lowered and opened her
fan, and threw back her head in a more relaxed attitude.

"Some people," she amended. "However, I forgive you. I will even flatter
you by saying I am glad you came. You look to have reached the age of
discretion. I venture to say that these boys' idea of a lively evening
is to throw bread about the table."

Orde flushed a little. The last time he had supped at Jane Hubbard's,
that was exactly what they did do.

"They are young, of course," he said, "and you and I are very old and
wise. But having a noisy, good time isn't such a great crime--or is it
where you came from?"

The girl leaned forward, a sparkle of interest in her eyes.

"Are you and I going to fight?" she demanded.

"That depends on you," returned Orde squarely, but with perfect
good-humour.

They eyed each other a moment. Then the girl closed her fan, and leaned
forward to touch him on the arm with it.

"You are quite right not to allow me to say mean things about your
friends, and I am a nasty little snip."

Orde bowed with sudden gravity.

"And they do throw bread," said he.

They both laughed. She leaned back with a movement of satisfaction,
seeming to sink into the shadows.

"Now, tell me; what do you do?"

"What do I do?" asked Orde, puzzled.

"Yes. Everybody does something out West here. It's a disgrace not to do
something, isn't it?"

"Oh, my business! I'm a river-driver just now."

"A river-driver?" she repeated, once more leaning forward. "Why, I've
just been hearing a great deal about you."

"That so?" he inquired.

"Yes, from Mrs. Baggs."

"Oh!" said Orde. "Then you know what a drunken, swearing, worthless lot
of bums and toughs we are, don't you?"

For the first time, in some subtle way she broke the poise of her
attitude.

"There is Hell's Half-Mile," she reminded him.

"Oh, yes," said Orde bitterly, "there's Hell's Half-Mile! Whose fault
is that? My rivermen's? My boys? Look here! I suppose you couldn't
understand it, if you tried a month; but suppose you were working ou