amusedly.

"Therefore, it doesn't follow that I'm getting foolish about a
girl just because I--hang it! what the Dickens makes you look at
a fellow that way? You make me?"

"Uh-huh," said Hank again, smoothing the lower half of his face
with one hand. "You're a mighty nice little boy, Bud. I'll bet
Mona thinks so, too and when yuh get growed up you'll know a
whole lot more than yuh do right now. Well, I guess I'll be
moving. When yuh get that--er--story done, you'll come back to
the ranch, I reckon. Be good."

Thurston watched him ride away, and then flounced, oh, men do
flounce at times, in spirit, if not in deed; and there would be
no lack of the deed if only they wore skirts that could rustle
indignantly in sympathy with the wearer--to his room. Plainly,
Hank did not swallow the excuse any more readily than did his
conscience.

To prove the sincerity of his assertion to himself, his
conscience, and to Hank Graves, he straightway got out a thick
pad of paper and sharpened three lead pencils to an exceeding
fine point. Then he sat him down by the window--where he could
see the kitchen door, which was the one most used by the
family--and nibbled the tip off one of the pencils like any
school-girl. For ten minutes he bluffed himself into believing
that he was trying to think of a title; the plain truth is, he
was wondering if Mona would go for a ride that afternoon and if
so, might he venture to suggest going with her.