"I ’m a good guesser. Jus’ put a li’l pepper right there on that yalla spot. Say, any chance to get a job in this town?" "Why, I don’t know." "Goin’ to stay long?" "I can’t say. I won’t go till Mrs. Olmstead is well." "Not meanin’ no harm to Mrs. Olmstead, of course—but you don’t _have_ to go, do you?" "I do as I please." "So I was thinkin’. Now, ’bout that job: any chance? Any ranches near here?" "Several. But they want _men_. Are you a real cowboy?" Sammy folded his hands and shook his head sorrowfully. "Huh! Want _men_! Now if I only had whiskers like Blinky. Why, ’course I ’m a cowboy. Regular one—but I can outgrow it easy. I ’m a sorta maverick an’ I ’m willin’ to wear a nice brand. My name’s Sammy Porter," he suggested. "That’s nice. Mine is n’t nice." "Easy to change it. Really like mine?" "Coffee strong enough?" "Sumptious. How long’s Mrs. Olmstead going to be sick?" Her face clouded. "I don’t know. I hope it will not be for long. She ’s had _so_ much trouble the past year. Oh, wait! I forgot the toast!" and she sped lightly away to rescue the burning bread. The front door opened and slammed shut, the newcomer dropping into the nearest chair. He pounded on the table. "Hello, there! I want somethin’ to eat, quick!" Sammy turned and saw a portly, flashily dressed drummer whose importance was written large all over him. "Hey!" barked the drummer, "gimme something to eat. I can’t wait all day!" A vicious clang in the kitchen told that his presence was known and resented. As Sammy turned from the stranger he caught sight of a pretty flushed face disappearing behind the door jamb, the brown eyes snapping and the red lips straight and compressed. His glance, again traveling to the drummer, began with the dusty patent leathers and went slowly upward, resting boldly on the heavy face. Sammy’s expression told nothing and the newcomer, glaring at him for an instant, looked over the menu card and then stared at the partition, fidgeting in his chair, thumping meanwhile on the table with his fingers. At a sound from the kitchen Sammy turned back to his table and smiled reassuringly as the toast was placed before him. "I burned it and had to make new," she said, the pink spots in her cheeks a little deeper in color. "Why, th’ other was good enough for me," he replied. "Know Mrs. Olmstead a long time?" he asked. "Ever since I was a little girl. She lived near us in Clev—" "Cleveland," he finished. "State of Ohio," he added, laughingly. "I ’ll get it all before I go." "Indeed you won’t!"