"What's the matter with you?" she cried, facing round upon him. "You
were thinking about me, I know. Confess, now."

"I was," he acknowledged, smiling at her.

"What were you thinking? Tell me," she insisted.

"I was thinking--" He paused.

"Go on!" she cried.

"I was thinking of what your father said about you."

"My father? About me? What did he say? To you?"

"No. To dad."

"What was it? Tell me. I must know." She was very imperious in her
manner. The youth only smiled at her.

"Go on!" she said impatiently.

"I think possibly your father was right," he replied, "when he said you
'boss the show.'"

"Oh, that's what he said, eh? Well, I guess he's about right."

"But you don't really?"

"Don't what? 'Boss the show'? Well, I boss my own show, at any rate.