“But I do, I tell you!  He was sweet.  He didn’t say a word or do a thing to frighten me—­”

“But he was full, Shee, you know he was.”

“Yes.  He’d been drinking.  I smelt it.  And he didn’t walk very straight, and he was a little mixed in his speech.  But, all the same, he was as good as gold.  And friendly and nice.  I might have walked home quietly with him and sent him away at the door.  And he wouldn’t have been seen by his father.”  Sheila’s eyes filled.  “It was dreadful—­to—­to knock him down the steps!”

“Say, if you’d had as much to put up with from Dickie as Poppa’s had—­”

“Oh,” said Sheila in a tone that welled up as from under a weight, “if I had always lived in Millings, I’d drink myself!”

Babe looked red and resentful, but Sheila’s voice rushed on.

“That saloon is the only interesting and attractive place in town.  The only thrilling people that ever come here go in through those doors.  I’ve seen some wonderful-looking men.  I’d like to paint them.  I’ve made some drawings of them—­men from over there back of the mountains.”

“You mean the cowboys from over The Hill, I guess,” drawled Babe contemptuously.  “Those sagebrush fellows from Hidden Creek.  I don’t think a whole lot of them.  Put one of them alongside of one of our town boys!  Why, they don’t speak good, Sheila, and they’re rough as a hill trail.  You’d be scared to death of them if you knew them better.”

“They look like real men to me,” said Sheila.  “And I never did like towns.”

“But you’re a town girl.”

“I am not.  I’ve been in cities and I’ve been in the country.  I’ve never lived in a town.”

“Well, there’ll be a dance one of these days next summer in the Town Hall, and maybe you’ll meet some of those rough-necks.  You’ll change your mind about them.  Why, I’d sooner dance with a sheep-herder from beyond the bad-lands, or with one of the hands from the oil-fields, than with those Hidden Creek fellows.  Horse-thieves and hold-ups and Lord knows what-all they are.  No account runaways.  Nothing solid or respectable about them.  Take a boy like Robert, now, or Jim—­”

Sheila put her hands to her ears.  Her face, between the hands, looked rather wicked in a sprite-like fashion.

“Don’t mention to me Mr. James Greely of the Millings National Bank!”

Babe rose pompously.  “I think you’re kind of off your bat to-night, Sheila Arundel,” she said, chewing noisily.  “First you run out at night with the mercury at 4 below and come dashing back scared to death, banging at the door, and then you tell me you like Dickie and ask me not to mention the finest fellow in Millings!”

“The finest fellow in the finest city in the world!” cried Sheila and laughed.  Her laugh was like a torrent of silver coins, but it had the right maliceful ring of a brownie’s “Ho!  Ho!  Ho!”

Babe stopped in the doorway and spoke heavily.