“He also remembered the book she was reading.  He come back with a copy he’d bought at Spokane and kept it on his bureau.  Not that he read it much.  It was harder to get into than ‘Peck’s Bad Boy,’ which was his favourite reading just then.

“Pretty soon another load of steers is ready—­my sakes, what scrubby runts we sent off the range in them days compared to now!—­and Angus pleads to go, so Lysander John makes a place for him and, coming back, here’s Ellabelle handing the hot things along same as ever, with ‘Lucile’ at hand for idle moments.  This time Angus again made certain there was something about her.  He cross-examined her, I suppose, between the last ham and eggs and the first hot cakes.  Her folks was corn farmers over in Iowa and she’d gone to high school and had meant to be a teacher, but took this job because with her it was anything to get out of Iowa, which she spoke of in a warm, harsh way.

“Angus nearly lost the train that time, making certain there was something about her.  He told her to be sure and stay there till he showed up again.  He told me about her when he got back.  ’There’s something about her,’ he says.  ’I suspect it’s her eyes, though it might be something else.’

“Me?  I suspected there was something about her, too; only I thought it was just that North Platte breakfast and his appetite.  No meal can ever be like breakfast to them that’s two-fisted, and Angus was.  He’d think there was something about any girl, I says to myself, seeing her through the romantic golden haze of them North Platte breakfast victuals.  Of course I didn’t suggest any such base notion to Angus, knowing how little good it does to talk sense to a man when he thinks there’s something about a girl.  He tried to read ‘Lucile’ again, but couldn’t seem to strike any funny parts.

“Next time he went to Omaha, a month later, he took his other suit and his new boots.  ‘I shall fling caution to the winds and seal my fate,’ he says.  ’There’s something about her, and some depraved scoundrel might find it out.’  ‘All right, go ahead and seal,’ I says.  ’You can’t expect us to be shipping steers every month just to give you twenty minutes with a North Platte waiter girl.’  ‘Will she think me impetuous?’ says he.  ‘Better that than have her think you ain’t,’ I warns him.  ’Men have been turned down for ten million reasons, and being impetuous is about the only one that was never numbered among them.  It will be strange o’clock when that happens.’  ‘She’s different,’ says Angus.  ‘Of course,’ I says.  ‘We’re all different.  That’s what makes us so much alike.’  ’You might know,’ says he doubtfully.