Her realistic descriptions of the episodes of a small town were
irresistible and Van Lennop never found himself more genuinely
entertained than when after a certain set form of greeting which they
went through daily with the greatest gravity, he would inquire--

"Well, Miss Tisdale, what are the developments in the world to-day?" And
with her quick, dimpling smile she would respond with some item of local
news which took its humor chiefly from the telling.

When a sign on the tar-paper shack which bore the legend "Warshing" was
replaced by "Plane Sewing Done," she reported the change and, again, the
fact that he was aware of Mrs. Abe Tutts's existence was due to Essie
Tisdale's graphic account of the outburst of temper in which that
erratic lady, while rehearsing the role of a duchess in an amateur
production, kicked, not figuratively but literally, the duke--a role
essayed by the talented plasterer--down the stairs of Odd Fellow's Hall
over the General Merchandise Store. The girl enjoyed life and its small
incidents with the zest of exuberant youth and Van Lennop often declared
himself as anxious that Mrs. Percy Parrott should accumulate enough from
the sale of milk to buy screens before flytime as that lady herself
since Essie sustained his interest by daily account of the addition to
the screen fund. He was still thinking of the combative Mrs. Tutts when
he opened a book and sat down by the open window.

A murmur of voices which began shortly underneath his window did not
disturb him, though subconsciously he was aware that one of them
belonged to Essie Tisdale. It was not until he heard his own name that
he lifted his eyes from the interesting pages before him.

"You lak him I t'ink--dat loafer--dat fellow Van Lennop?"

Van Lennop recognized the thick, gutteral voice of old Edouard Dubois.

"Like him? Of course I like him, and"--there was asperity in Essie's
tone now--"he isn't a loafer."

"Hold-up, then," substituted Dubois.

"Nor a hold-up."

"What you t'ink he is?"

"Something you would never recognize," she answered sharply; "a
gentleman."

Van Lennop smiled, for in his mind's eye he could see the tense
aggressiveness of her slim figure.

"Chentleman!" was the contemptuous snort. "Chentleman--and never buy de
drinks for nobody all de time he is in Crowheart. Fine chentleman dat!"

"When do you buy any?" was the pointed inquiry.

"I haf to work for _my_ money; his comes easy," he replied
signi