English, a Devonshire man. Geoff Templestowe is his name."

"Is he nice?"

"You can just bet your pile that he is," said Clarence, who seemed to have
assimilated Western slang with the rest of the West. "Wait till I bring
him to see you. We'll come in on purpose some day soon. Well, I must be
going. Good-by, Clover; good-by, Phil. It's awfully jolly to have you
here."

"I never should have guessed who it was," remarked Clover, as they watched
the active figure canter down the street and turn for a last flourish of
the hat. "He was the roughest, scrubbiest boy when we last met. What a
fine-looking fellow he has grown to be, and how well he rides!"

"No wonder; a fellow who can have a horse whenever he has a mind to," said
Phil, enviously. "Life on a ranch must be great fun, I think."

"Yes; in one way, but pretty rough and lonely too, sometimes. It will be
nice to go out and see Clarence's, if we can get some lady to go with us,
won't it?"

"Well, just don't let it be Mrs. Watson, whoever else it is. She would
spoil it all if she went."

"Now, Philly, don't. We're supposed to be leaning on her for support."

"Oh, come now, lean on that old thing! Why she couldn't support a postage
stamp standing edgewise, as the man says in the play. Do you suppose I
don't know how you have to look out for her and do everything? She's not a