course I didn't suggest any such base notion to Angus, knowing how
little good it does to talk sense to a man when he thinks there's
something about a girl. He tried to read 'Lucile' again, but couldn't
seem to strike any funny parts.

"Next time he went to Omaha, a month later, he took his other suit and
his new boots. 'I shall fling caution to the winds and seal my fate,' he
says. 'There's something about her, and some depraved scoundrel might
find it out.' 'All right, go ahead and seal,' I says. 'You can't expect
us to be shipping steers every month just to give you twenty minutes
with a North Platte waiter girl.' 'Will she think me impetuous?' says
he. 'Better that than have her think you ain't,' I warns him. 'Men have
been turned down for ten million reasons, and being impetuous is about
the only one that was never numbered among them. It will be strange
o'clock when that happens.' 'She's different,' says Angus. 'Of course,'
I says. 'We're all different. That's what makes us so much alike.' 'You
might know,' says he doubtfully.

"He proved I did, on the trip back. He marched up to Ellabelle's end of
the table in his other suit and his new boots and a startling necktie
he'd bought at a place near the stockyards in South Omaha, and proposed
honourable marriage to her, probably after the first bite of sausage and
while she was setting his coffee down. 'And you've only twenty minutes,'
he says, 'so hurry and pack your grip. We'll be wed when we get off the
train.' 'You're too impetuous,' says Ellabelle, looking more than ever
as if there was something about her. 'There, I was afraid I'd be,' says
Angus, quitting on some steak and breaking out into scarlet rash. 'What
did you think I am?' demands Ellabelle. 'Did you think I would answer
your beck and call or your lightest nod as if I were your slave or
something? Little you know me,' she says, tossing her head indignantly.