To show how successful was his mental adjustment, it is necessary merely to state one fact:  Where he had intended to stop an hour or so, he stayed the afternoon; ate supper there and rode home at sundown, his mind a jumble of sunny Californian days where one may gather star-fishes and oranges, bay leaves and ripe olives at will, and of black and white lambs which always obtrude themselves at the wrong moment and break off little, intimate confidences about life in a real-estate office, perhaps; and of polished finger-nails that never dip themselves in dishwater—­Andy had come to believe that it would be neither right or just to expect them to do so common a thing.

The season was what the range calls “between roundups,” so that Andy went straight to the ranch and found the Happy Family in or around the bunk-house, peacefully enjoying their before-bedtime smoke.  Andy, among other positive faults and virtues, did not lack a certain degree of guile.  Men there were at the Flying U who would ride in haste if they guessed that a pompadoured young woman from California was at the end of the trail, and Andy, knowing well the reputation he bore among them, set that reputation at work to keep the trail empty of all riders save himself.  When someone asked him idly what had kept him so long, he gazed around at them with his big, innocent gray eyes.

“Why, I was just getting acquainted with the new girl,” he answered simply and truthfully.

Truth being something which the Happy Family was unaccustomed to from the lips of Andy Green, they sniffed scornfully.

“What girl?” demanded Irish bluntly.

“Why, Take-Notice’s girl.  His young lady daughter that is visiting him.  She’s mighty nice, and she’s got style about her, and she was feeding two lambs.  Her name,” he added softly, “is Mary.”

Since no one had ever heard that Take-Notice had a daughter, the Happy Family could not be blamed for doubting Andy.  They did doubt, profanely and volubly.

“Say, did any of you fellows ever eat a ripe olive?” Andy broke in, when he could make himself heard.  “Well,” he explained mildly, when came another rift of silence in the storm-cloud of words, “When yuh ride over there, she’ll likely give yuh one to try; but yuh take my advice and pass it up.  I went up against one, and I ain’t got the taste out uh my mouth yet.  It’s sure fierce.”

More words, from which Andy gathered that they did not believe anything he said; that he was wasting time and breath, and that his imagination was weak and his lies idiotic.  He’d better not let Take-Notice hear how he was taking his name in vain and giving him a daughter—­and so on.

“Say, did yuh ever see a star-fish?  Funniest thing yuh ever saw, all pimply, and pink, and with five points to ’em.  She’s got two.  When yuh go over, you ask her to let yuh see ’em.”  Andy was in bed, then, and he spoke through the dusk toward the voices.  What those voices had just then been saying seemed to have absolutely no effect upon him.