“Well, why did he come, then? He wanted I should show him the new separator and them samples of cork-brick. He’s a chemist, ain’t he? He’s int-rested in cork-brick and separators ’n’ all like that.” Mazie twisted a curl paper around a thick brown tress. “When he talked about the theatre and acting,” she remarked, “did you notice how Eris acted?” “She gawked at him,” grunted Odell. “She’d better get that pitcher idee outa her fool head,--lazin’ around readin’ them pitcher magazines ’n’ novels, ’n’ moonin all over the place instid of findin’ chores to occupy her ’n’ doin’ them----” “Oh, hush,” interrupted Mazie; “you talk and take on awful foolish, Elmer. When Eris marries some bright, steady boy, all that trash in her head will go into the slop-pail.” Odell scowled: “Well, why don’t she marry, then? She ain’t no help to you----” “She _is_! Hush up your head. You’ll miss her, too, when she marries, and some strange man takes her away. I guess I know who aims to do it, too.” “Well, who aims to do it? Hey? She don’t have nothin’ to say to our Whitewater boys. She allus acts proud and highmighty and uppish. Dan Burns he come sparkin’ her ’n’ she stayed in her room and wouldn’t even come down to supper. ’N’ there was Clay Wallace, ’n’ Buddy Morgan----” “It looks like she’s willing to be sparked to-night, don’t it?” said Mazie, with an odd little laugh. Elmer rose on one elbow: “Say, you don’t think _he_ wants our Eris, do yeh?” “Why not? Isn’t Eris good enough for any man?” “Well, well, dang it all, Stew Graydon seems diff-runt.... He’s too educated ’n’ stylish for plain folks--’n’ he’s got a big position in the mill. He don’t want our Eris----” “Why _not_?” repeated Mazie. Odell shook his frowsy head: “He’ll want a rich girl. Eris hain’t got only that heifer-money. I can’t give her more’n a mite----” “That don’t count with me, Elmer.” She flushed, “--it didn’t count with _you_.” “Well, you was worth consid’ble more’n cash,” he grunted. “So’s any girl--if a boy likes her.” “You think a smart man like Stew Graydon----” “How do I know?” drawled Mazie. “She’s downstairs yet with him, ain’t she? I never knew her to act that way before. Nor you, either.” * * * * * She never had “acted that way before.” The drowning swimmer and his straw--Eris and the first man she ever had met who had been actually in touch with the mystery of the moving pictures--that was the situation. For Graydon’s personality she had only the virginal interest which is reassured by a pleasant manner, a pleasing voice, and the trim, neat inconspicuousness of face, figure, and apparel which invites neither criticism nor particular admiration,--nor alarm. But for his education, his knowledge, his wisdom, his fluency,--above all for his evident sympathy and ability to understand her desire,--she had an excited and passionate need.