"Honest, I don't--not exactly."

But the judge was unconvinced. "You've been as mysterious as a
bootlegger for the last week, but I could always read you like a
book, Tom Parker. You know, all right. Mrs. Halloran wants to come
over and fix things up for her. She said so this--"

"Oh, I got everything fixed," Tom hastily declared. "Ha! What
did I tell you?" The judge glared; Tom could have bitten his
tongue for that slip. "Your pitiful attempts to mislead Barbara's
admirers expose you to ridicule, and offend those of us who
tolerate you out of regard for her." (The judge had a nice Texas
drawl, and he pronounced it "reegy'ad.") "You're on your way to
the train at this moment and--I propose to accompany you."

"What would I be going to the train for, now?" Tom inquired, in a
deceitfully mild tone. Inwardly he was raging, and he cursed the
judge for a meddlesome old fool.

"Hm-m! Thought you'd sneak down there, unobserved, probably."
There was a pause; then the speaker went on in an altered tone:
"D'you suppose she has forgotten all her native accomplishments,
Tom? I wonder if she can still ride and rope and shoot, or if
those thin-blooded Eastern schoolma'ams have taught her that such
things are unladylike and coarse."

"Pshaw! You never forget how to do those things."

"She could handle a horse or a rope or a gun as well as you at
your best."