abomination, a queer kind of a break in his voice:

"Come out of that."

Mrs. Bradshaw moved out into the light, and, if I'm any judge, the
joy that showed in her face rubbed away the bitterness of the past
years. With an aching little cry the girl ran to her, and hid in her
arms like a quail.

We men-folks got accumulated up into a dark corner where we shook
hands and swore soft and insincere, and let our throats hurt, for all
the world like it was Christmas or we'd got mail from home.




BITTER ROOT BILLINGS, ARBITER

Billings rode in from the Junction about dusk, and ate his supper in
silence. He'd been East for sixty days, and, although there lurked
about him the hint of unwonted ventures, etiquette forbade its
mention. You see, in our country, that which a man gives voluntarily
is ofttimes later dissected in smoky bunk-houses, or roughly handled
round flickering camp fires, but the privacies he guards are
inviolate. Curiosity isn't exactly a lost art, but its practice
isn't popular nor hygenic.

Later, I found him meditatively whittling out on the porch, and, as
the moment seemed propitious, I inquired adroitly:--"Did you have a
good time in Chicago, 'Bitter Root'?"