“Oh—­er—­hello!  That you, Miss Selmer?  Beg your pardon—­my mistake.  Er—­ah—­how are yuh this evenin’?”

“Oh—­lonesome.”  A sigh seemed to waft over the wire.  “You see, I have quarreled with Mars again.  He would drink out of your big dipper in spite of me!  I knew you wouldn’t like that—­”

“Oh—­why no, of course not!” The hoarseness broke slightly, here and there.  A worried tone was faintly manifesting itself.

“And I was wondering when you are coming to take me for another ride!”

“Why—­ah—­just as soon as I can, Miss Venus.  You know my time ain’t my own—­but maybe Sunday I could git off.”

“How nice!  What a bad cold you have!  How did you catch, it?” Sweetly solicitous now, that voice.

“Why, I dunno—­”

“Was it from going without your coat when we were riding last time?”

“I—­yes, I guess it was; but that don’t matter.  I’d be willing to ketch a dozen colds riding with you.  It don’t matter at all.”

“Oh, but it does!  It matters a great deal—­Dearie!  Did you really think I was that nasty Mary V Selmer calling you up?”

“Why, no, I—­I was just talking to her father—­but as soon as I—­I was thinking maybe the old man had forgot something, and had her—­uh course I knowed your voice right away—­sweetheart.”  That was very daring.  The man’s forehead was all beaded with perspiration by this time, and it was not the heat that caused it.  “You know I wouldn’t talk to her if I didn’t have to.”  It is very difficult to speak in honeyed accents that would still carry a bullfrog hoarseness, but the man tried it, nevertheless.

“Dearie!  Honest?”

“You know it!” He was bolder now that he knew endearing terms were accepted as a matter of course.

“OO-oo!  I believe you’re fibbing.  You kept calling me Miss Venus just as if—­you—­liked somebody else better.  Just for that, I’m not going to talk another minute.  And you needn’t call up, either—­for I shall not answer!”

She hung up the receiver, and the man, once he was sure of it, did likewise.  He wiped his forehead, damned all women impartially as a thus-and-so nuisance that would queer a man’s game every time if he wasn’t sharp enough to meet their plays, and went outside.  He still felt very well satisfied with himself, but his satisfaction was tempered with thankfulness that he was clever enough to fool that confounded girl.  All the way back to his horse he was trying to “place” the voice and the name.

Some one within riding distance, it must be—­some one visiting in the country.  He sure didn’t know of any ranch girl named Venus.  After awhile he felt he could afford to grin over the incident.  “Never knowed the difference,” he boasted as he rode away.  “Nine men outa ten woulda overplayed their hand, right there.”

Just how far he had overplayed his hand, that man never knew.  Far enough to send Mary V to her room rather white and scared; shaking, too, with excitement.  She stood by the window, looking out at the moon-lighted yard with its wind-beaten flowers.  To save her life she could not help recalling the story of Little Red Riding Hood, nor could she rid herself of the odd sensation of having talked with the Wolf.  Though she did not, of course, carry the simile so far as to liken Johnny Jewel to the Grandmother.