“Go on, Bill!”

“Of course you do.”

“Make Jack Moffat shut up!”

The justly indignant president of the Bachelors’ Club remained motionless, his mouth still open, struggling to restrain those caustic and profane remarks which, in that presence, he dare not utter.  He instinctively flung one hand back to his hip, only to remember that all guns had been left at the door.  McNeil eyed him calmly, as he might eye a chained bear, his lips parted in a genial smile.

“I—­eh—­ain’t no great shakes of an—­eh—­orator,” he began, apologetically, waving one hand toward his gasping rival, “like Mr.—­eh—­Moffat.  I can’t sling words round—­eh—­reckless, like the—­eh—­gent what just had the floor, ner—­eh—­spout poetry, but I reckon—­eh—­I kin git out—­eh—­’bout what I got to say.  Mr. Moffat has—­eh—­told you what the—­eh—­Bachelor Miners’ Club—­eh—­has been a-doin’.  He—­eh—­spread it on pretty blame thick, but—­eh—­I reckon they ain’t—­eh—­all of ’em miners round this yere—­eh—­camp.  As the—­eh—­president of the—­eh—­Cattlemen’s Shakespearian—­eh—­Reading Circle, I am asked to present to—­eh—­Miss Spencer a slight token—­eh—­of our esteem, and—­eh—­to express our pleasure at—­eh—­being permitted,” he bowed to the choking Mr. Moffat, “eh—­to participate in this—­eh—­most glorious occasion.”

He stepped forward, and dropped into Miss Spencer’s lap a small plush-covered box.  Her fingers pressed the spring, and, as the lid flew open, the brilliant flash of a diamond dazzled her eyes.  She sat staring at it, unable for the moment to find speech.  Then the assemblage burst into an unrestrained murmur of admiration, and the sound served to arouse her.

“Oh, how beautiful it all is!” she exclaimed, rapturously.  “I hardly know what to say, or whom to thank.  I never heard of anything so perfectly splendid before.  It makes me cry just to remember that it is all done for me.  Oh, Mr. Moffat, I want to thank, through you, the gentlemen of the Bachelors’ Club for this magnificent reception.  I know I do not deserve it, but it makes me so proud to realize the interest you all take in my work.  And, Mr. McNeil, I beg you to return my gratitude to the gentlemen of the—­the (oh, thank you)—­the Cattlemen’s Shakespearian Reading Circle (how very nice of you to have such an organization for the study of higher literature!) for this superb gift.  I shall never forget this night, or what it has brought me, and I simply cannot express my real feelings at all; I—­I don’t know what to say, or—­or what to do.”

She paused, burying her face in her hands, her body shaken with sobs.  Moffat, scarcely knowing whether to swear or smile, hastily signalled for the waiting musicians to begin.  As they swung merrily into waltz measure he stepped forward, fully confident of his first claim for that opening dance, and vaguely conscious that, once upon the floor with her, he might thus regain his old leadership.  Miss Spencer glanced up at him through her tears.