the ramshackle building, "wisht I'd brought it."
"When I rides fifty mile to shake my Methody foot I aims to shake it," continued Mossy in growing wrath. He added: "Wisht Riley was here. He can handle these greasers like a steam-shovel, and his fist—they'd rather be hit with a drill."
"He's freightin' between here and Hopedale. Say"—the cook suddenly drew one corner of his mouth down and conversed from it in a whisper of exultation—"did you see the look that señorita give me?"
Mossy jammed his jack-knife into his pocket and returned sourly:
"I kin see she's laffin, at somethin'."
Unperturbed by such open envy Clarence sat from that moment with his eyes boldly glued upon Señorita Perfecta Torres, and as he stared the cook's inflammable heart took fire.
Desire quickly changed to purpose, and when the numbers for the third dance were called with the Americans still excluded, the cook, with a gallant daring none had suspected he possessed, slipped his arm about the waist
