"I don't know what he is--now," said Weary plaintively. "He was, at
that time. He's generally what happens to be the most dev--mean under
the circumstances."

"Well, maybe he'll consent to being led to the stable; he looks as if
he had a most unmerciful master!" (Weary, being perfectly innocent,
blushed guiltily) "But I'll forgive you riding him like that, and make
for you a pitcher of lemonade and give you some cake while he rests.
You certainly must not ride back with him so tired."

Fresh lemonade sounded tempting, after that ride. And being lectured
was not at all what he had expected from the schoolma'am--and who can
fathom the mind of a man? Weary gave her one complex glance, laid his
hand upon the bridle and discovered that Glory, having done what
mischief he could, was disposed to be very meek. At the corral gate
Weary looked back.

"At dances," he mused aloud, "one doesn't consider men as
individuals--it's merely a question of feet. She took me for a train
robber; and I danced with her about forty times, that night, and took
her over to supper and we whacked up on our chicken salad because there
was only one dish for the two of us--oh, mamma!"

He pulled off the saddle with a preoccupied air and rubbed Glory down
mechanically. After that he went over and sat down on the oats' box
and smoked two cigarettes while he pondered many things.

He stood up and thoughtfully surveyed himself, brushed sundry bright
sorrel hairs from his coat sleeves, stooped and tried to pinch creases