They moved to the living-room where Anita and Margery sat side by side on the couch with the baby absorbing all their attention.

Sundown stalked about the room, his hands in his pockets, vainly endeavoring to appear very mannish and unconcerned, but his eye roved unceasingly to the baby.  He was the longest and most upstanding six-feet-four of proud father that Margery or her husband had ever had the pleasure of meeting.

“He’s got Neeter’s eyes—­and—­and her—­complexion, but he’s sure got me style.  He measures up two-feet-six by the yardstick what we got with buyin’ a case of bakin’-soda, and he ain’t a yearlin’ yet.  I don’t just recollec’ the day but I reckon Neeter knows.”

“He’s great!” exclaimed Corliss.  “Isn’t he, Margery?”

“He’s just the cutest little brown baby!” said Margery, hugging the plump little body.

“He—­he ain’t so turruble brown,” asserted Sundown. “’Course, he’s tanned up some, seein’ we keep him outside lots.  I’m kind o’ tanned up meself, and I reckon he takes after me.”

“He has a head shaped just like yours,” said Margery, anxious to please the proud father.

“Then,” said Sundown solemnly, “he’s goin’ to be a pole.”

Anita, proud of her offspring, her husband, her neat and clean home, laughed softly, and held out her arms for the baby.  With a kick and a struggle the young Sundown wriggled to her arms and snuggled against her, gravely inspecting the pink roses on his mother’s white dress.  They were new to him.  He was more used to blue gingham.  The roses were interesting.

“Yes, Billy’s me latest improvement,” said Sundown, anxious to assert himself in view of the presence of so much femininity and a correspondingly seeming lack of vital interest in anything save the baby.

“Billy!” said Corliss, turning from where he had stood gazing out of the window.

“Uhuh!  We named him Billy after you.”

Corliss turned again to the window.

Sundown stepped to him, misinterpreting his silence.  He put his hand on Corliss’s shoulder.  “You ain’t mad ’cause we called him that, be you?”

“Mad!  Say, Sun,”—­and Corliss laughed, choked, and brushed his eyes.  “Sun, I don’t deserve it.”

“Well, seein’ what I been through since I was his size, I reckon I don’t either.  But he’s here, and you’re here and your wife—­and things is fine!  The sun is shinin’ and the jiggers out on the mesa is chirkin’ and to-morrow’s goin’ to be a fine day.  There’s nothin’ like bankin’ on to-morrow, ‘specially if you are doin’ the best you kin today.”  And with this bit of philosophy, Sundown, motioning to Corliss, excused himself and his companion as they strode to the doorway and out to the open.  There they talked about many things having to do with themselves and others until Margery, hailing them from the door, told them that dinner was waiting.