She was beginning on a nut sundae when the puncher drifted in.
She continued to devote even her eyes to its consumption, while
the foreman opened a casual conversation with the drug clerk and
lit his cigar.
"How are things coming in Gimlet Butte?" he asked, by way of
prolonging his stay rather than out of desire for information.
Yes, she certainly had the longest, softest lashes he had ever
seen, and the ripest of cherry lips, behind the smiling depths of
which sparkled two rows of tiny pearls. He wished she would look
at HIM and smile again. There wasn't any use trying to melt a
sundae with it, anyhow.
"Sure, it's a good year on the range and the price of cows
jumping," he heard his sub-conscious self make answer to the
patronizing inquiries of him of the "boiled" shirt.
Funny how pretty hair of that color was especially when there was
so much of it. You might call it a sort of coppery gold where the
little curls escaped in tendrils and ran wild. A fellow--"
"Yes, I reckon most of the boys will drop around to the Fourth of
July celebration. Got to cut loose once in a while, y'u know."
A shy glance shot him and set him a-tingle with a queer delight.
Gracious, what pretty dark velvety lashes she had!
She was rising already, and as she paid for the ice cream that
innocent gaze smote him again with the brightest of Irish eyes
conceivable.
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