But Johnnie had saved till the last the crowning news of all. And he felt certain that if the cowboy had shown not more than a lively interest in Father Pat, and had been only politely heedful regarding boy scouts, things would be altogether different when he heard about the engagement. "One-Eye," began Johnnie, impressively, "I got somethin' _else_ t' tell y'. Oh, it's somethin' that'll su'prise y' _awful_! What d' y' think it is?" One-Eye was in the morris chair at the time, his hat on, his single organ of vision roving the kitchen. In particular, it roved in the direction of the tiny room, where, through the open door, could be seen dimly the gay paper flounces bedecking Cis's dressing-table. "Aw, I dunno," he answered dully. "But, _guess_, One-Eye!" persisted Johnnie, eager to fire the cowboy's curiosity. "Guess! And I'll help y' out by tellin' y' this much: it's 'bout Cis." Ah! That caught the interest! Johnnie could tell by the way that single eye came shooting round to hold his own. "Yeh?" exclaimed the Westerner. "Wal--? Wal--?" He leaned forward almost impatiently. "Cis and Mister Perkins 're goin' t' be married." One-Eye continued to stare; and Johnnie saw the strangest expression come into the green eye. Anger seemed a part of that expression, and instantly Johnnie regretted having shared the news (but why _should_ the cowboy be angry?) Also there was pain in the look. Then did One-Eye disapprove? At this last thought, Johnnie hastened to explain how things stood in the flat. "Big Tom, he don't know they're goin' t' be married," he said, "and we'd be 'fraid t' tell him." "I--I savvy." Now One-Eye studied the floor. Presently, as if he were busy with his thoughts, he reached up and dragged his hat far down over his blind eye. The hat settled, he settled himself--lower and lower in the big chair, his shoulders doubling, his knees falling apart, his clasped hands hanging between his knees and all but touching his boots. Thus he stayed for a little, bowed. All this was so different from what Johnnie had expected that again he suspected displeasure--toward Cis, toward himself; and as with a sinking, miserable heart he watched his visitor, he wished from his soul that he had kept the engagement to himself. "Y' ain't g-g-glad," he stammered finally. However, as Johnnie afterward remarked to Cis, when it came to judging what the cowboy felt about this or that, a person never could tell. For, "Glad?" repeated One-Eye, raising the bent head; "w'y, sonny, I'm tickled t' death t' hear it!--jes' plumb tickled t' death!" (And how was Johnnie to know that this was not strictly the truth?)