by E. R. Slade
“There isn’t?” he asked innocently, as though confused.
“I’ll throw that basket of food at you if you mention him again.”
“Funny, I thought I saw you with him once or twice, and ...”
“And here I believed you were a gentleman,” she pouted, her eyes full of mischief.
“No,” he said patiently, “Eggy is the gentleman. I’m the guy in the grimy hat.”
She took it off his head and clapped it over his face. It was some time before they fully recovered from their laughter.
Then Lon said, “Your father is after me again about the marshal’s job.”
“And?” she asked, softly, supportively.
“How do you feel about that?”
For answer she picked up his hat, put it on his head, carefully adjusted it straight and low over his eyes, and then tucked her arm through his.
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