Between-whiles Andy had told her his name and the name of the outfit he worked for; had explained what he meant by “outfit,” and had drawn a large U in the dirt to show her what a Flying U was, and had wanted to murder the black lamb which kept getting in his way and trying to eat the stick Andy used for a pencil; had confessed that he did sometimes play cards for money, as do the cowboys in Western stories, but assured her that he had never killed off any of his friends during any little disagreement.  He had owned to drinking a glass of whisky now and then, but declared that it was only for snake bite and did not happen oftener than once in six months or so.  Yes, he had often had rattlers in his bed, but not to hurt.  This is where he began to inspect the star-fishes, and so turned the conversation safely back to California and himself away from the temptation to revel in fiction.

All of which took time, so that Take-Notice came before they quite felt a longing for his presence; and though the sun shone straight in the cabin door and so proved that it was full noon, there was no fire left in the stove and nothing in sight that was eatable save another ripe olive—­which Andy had politely declined—­and two more almonds and an orange.

A stenographer, with a fluffy pompadour that dipped distractingly at one side, and a gold watch suspended around the neck like a locket, and with sleeves that came no farther than the elbow and heels higher than any riding boot Andy ever owned in his life, and with teeth that were very white and showed a glint of gold here and there, and eyes that looked at one with insincere gravity, and fingers with nails that shone—­fingers that pinched red lips together meditatively—­a stenographer who has all these entrancing attributes, Andy discovered, may yet lack those housewifely accomplishments that make a man dream of a little home for two.  So far as Andy could see, her knowledge of cookery extended no farther than rolled oat porridge for the two lambs.

Take-Notice it was who whittled shavings and started the fire without any comment upon the hour or his appetite; who went to the spring and brought water, half-filled the enameled teakettle which had large, bare patches where the enamel had been chipped off in the stress of baching, and sliced the bacon and mixed the “sour-dough” biscuits.  To be sure, he had done those things for years and thought nothing of it; Andy, also, had done those things, many’s the time, and had thought nothing of it, either.  But to do them while a young woman sits calmly by and makes no offer of help, but talks of many things, unconscious even of her world-old, feminine duties and privileges, that struck Andy with a cold breath of disillusionment.

He watched her unobtrusively while she talked.  She never once seemed to feel that cooking belonged to woman, and as far as he could see Take-Notice did not feel so either.  So Andy mentally adjusted himself to the novelty and joyed in her presence.