Suppose he didn't go back West at all? Suppose he stayed in the East and tried to make something of himself? Cut the whole outfit, Clare and Bob Allison and all, and got a job here?
But what could he do? Go into a store and sell neckties, like that little shrimp he had bought his from a couple of days ago?
"If you like a bit of dash, here's one. Lots of class to that tie. They're using more color this year."
God Almighty, that was a man's job!
After half an hour of pacing, the loose boards of the floor creaking under him, he was brought up by a light tapping at the door, and opening it an inch or so saw a girl outside in a pink kimono over her nightdress.
"Are you sick or anything?" she asked. "I can hear you walking. I'm in the next room."
"Sorry I waked you up. I'm breaking in a pair of shoes."
"You're—what?" she asked. And then burst into uncontrollable merriment. He grinned sheepishly. But she did not move. She stood gazing up at him with bright interested eyes.
"You're a queer one," she said. "Don't you think you owe me a cigarette for disturbing me?"
"I'll have to roll one."
She laughed again at that, and while he closed the door and got into his trousers she stood, smiling and amused, outside. When he opened the door again she stepped in and closed it behind her, watching him interestedly while he made her cigarette.
"Cowboy, aren't you?"
"Yeah. What do you want to smoke and spoil a good set of teeth for, anyhow?"
"It hasn't hurt yours any!"
She was young, pretty and quite composed. When he turned from finding a match for her, she had seated herself on a chair and drawn her bare feet up under her. He was surprised and slightly shocked.
He lighted her cigarette and then indicated the door.
