The girl looked at him in silence for a long time, and into her brain came a new, swift, and revealing concept of his essential littleness and weakness. His beauty lost its charm, and a kind of disgust rose in her throat as she slowly said, with cutting scorn: "If you really meant that!--but you don't, you're only talking to hear yourself talk. Now you shut up and run away. This is no place for chewing the rag, anyway--this is my busy day." For a moment the man's face expressed the rage of a wild-cat and his hands clinched. "Don't you do it--that's all!" he finally snarled. "You'll wish you hadn't." "Run away, little boy," she said, irritably. "You make me tired. I don't feel like being badgered by anybody, and, besides, I'm not mortgaged to anybody just yet." His mood changed. "Bertie, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be fresh. But don't talk to me that way, it uses me all up." "Well, then, stop puffing and blowing. I've troubles of my own, with mother sick and a new cook in the kitchen." "Excuse me, Bert; I'll never do it again." "That's all right." "But it riled me like the devil to think--" he began again. "Don't think," she curtly interrupted; "cut hair." Perceiving that she was in evil mood for his plea, he turned away so sadly that the girl relented a little and called out: "Say, Ed!" He turned and came back. "See here! I didn't intend to hurt your feelings, but this is one of my touchy days, and you got on the wrong side of me. I'm sorry. Here's my hand--now shake, and run." His face lightened, and he smiled, displaying his fine, white teeth. "You're a world-beater, sure thing, and I'm going to get you yet!" "Cut it out!" she slangily retorted, sharply, withdrawing her hand. "You'll see!" he shouted, laughing back at her, full of hope again. She was equally curt with two or three others who brazenly tried to buy a smile with their cigars. "Do business, boys; this is my day to sell goods," she said, and they took the hint. When Haney came out from his supper, he stepped quietly in behind the counter and said: "I'll take your place. Get your grub. Then put on your hat and we'll drive out to see how the mother is." The girl acknowledged a sense of relief as she left him in charge and went to her seat in the far corner of the dining-room--a relief and a dangerous relaxation. It was, after all, a pleasure to feel that a strong, sure hand was out-stretched in sympathy--and she was tired. Even as she sat waiting for her tea the collapse came, and bowing her head to her hands she shook with silent sobs. The waitresses stared, and young Mrs. Gilman came hurrying. "What's the matter, Bertie; are you sick?" "Oh no--but I'm worried--about mother." "You haven't heard anything--?" "No, but she looked so old and so worn when she went away. She ought to have quit here a month ago." "Well, I wouldn't worry. It's cooler out to the ranch, and the air is so pure she'll pick up right away--you'll see."