He's not romantic, but he's solid. As for me--"
And Bartley spoke of his own income, just what he could afford to spend
each month, and just how much he managed to save, and his ambition to
earn more. Dorothy realized that he was talking to her just as he would
have talked to a chum--a man friend, without reserve, and she liked him
for it. She had been curious about him, his vocation, and even about his
plans; and she felt a glow of affection because he had seemed so loyal
to his friendship with Cheyenne, and because he had been kind to Little
Jim Hastings. While doing so with no other thought than to please the
boy, Bartley had made no mistake in buying him that new rifle.
As they came to the big rock by the roadside--a spot which Bartley had
good reason to remember--he paused and glanced at Dorothy. She was
laughing.
"You looked so funny that day. You were the most dilapidated-looking
person--for a writer--"
"I imagine I was, after Hull got through with me. Let's sit down awhile.
I want to tell you what I should like to do. Are you comfortable?"
Dorothy nodded.
"Well," said Bartley, seating himself beside her, "I should like to rent
a small place in the valley, a place just big enough for two, and then
settle down and write this story.
Pages:
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268