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Updated: May 7, 2025
Can we, Keith?" "Nope. When will you send the bwidle?" he demanded. "Soon," the restored patient said to the boy, and to her: "That wasn't nothin' a-tall. From where I come from we always been use to standin' by our boss." He shifted awkwardly to the other foot, flushing to the hair while he buried her soft little hand in his big freckled one. The girl showed no shyness.
Joyce brought Keith in to say good-bye to Dave and his friend before they left. The little fellow ran across the room to his new pal, who had busied himself weaving horsehair playthings for the youngster. "You turn back and make me a bwidle, Dave," he cried. "I'll sure come or else send you one," the cowpuncher promised, rising to meet Joyce.
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