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"Oh, Dixie!" said Christian, suffering equally with artist and critic, "don't you see, it's a picture of me!" Mrs. Dixon took the blow gallantly. "Well, wasn't I the finished fool to forget my specs! I that couldn't see the harp on a ha'penny without them!" "Don't worry, Dixie," said Larry, smacking a ball into a pocket; "I'm not surprised you didn't recognise it it's not half good enough."
"I'm awfully sorry I made you mad," Henley stammered. "You know, Dixie, I wouldn't say a thing for worlds that would " Dixie laughed. "You couldn't make me mad at you to save your life, Alfred. I'm mad at myself, that's all, for starting out on such a silly jaunt. I might have knowed that it would be hard to put this thing through in any decent shape. I don't care what Long'll say or think.
When a French actress sings the "Marseillaise" to a theatre audience in war-time, or Sir Harry Lauder, dressed in kilts, sings to a Scottish-born audience about "the bonny purple heather," or a marching regiment strikes up "Dixie," the actual song is only the release of a mood already stimulated.
It helped me wonderfully. I used it so often afterwards that some of my mates dubbed me, "If you're going to get it, you'll get it." After an hour's hard work, all my nervousness left me, and I was laughing and joking with the rest. At one o'clock, dinner came up in the form of a dixie of hot stew. I looked for my canteen. It had fallen off the fire step, and was half buried in the mud.
"There are some Longs that rented land from me a few years ago," Dixie said, evasively. "I wonder if they are akin to you. Seems to me, now I think of it, that you favor 'em some." "They may be away-off fourth or fifth cousins, I don't really know." Long looked as if he thought the conversation had taken quite an unprofitable turn. "I never was much of a hand to keep track of far-off kin.
It's sort of queer, too. I wonder where he can be keeping himself, all day?" "Maybe those fellows have got to him after all." Jack Kimball and his chums, landing at the fisherman's dock from the Dixie, thus commented when they paid another visit to Denny's cabin, and found him still absent. "No, I don't imagine anything has happened," said Jack.
With the bound of a panther he reached them just as Dixie was eluding Bradley's embrace and trying to release her hand, to which he clung with a grip of steel. Neither of the two saw Henley, and it was a crushing blow from the storekeeper's fist against the side of Bradley's head that showed him what he had to contend with.
One of 'em re'ched over an' felt of the ribbon on the pore gal's hat, and then they stuffed the'r handkerchiefs in the'r mouths and come nigh bustin' with giggles. Them sort think they are the whole show, with their white hands, smellin'-stuff, and the'r eyes on every man that passes, while a gal like Dixie Hart is overlooked.
She reached for his pen and dipped it, and began to address the envelope as it lay on her knee. "And that letter is to him, you say?" Henley said, wonderingly. "Well, it ain't to no girl," Dixie smiled, with an arch, upward glance. "Stamps and paper cost too much such times as these to waste 'em on women." "I'm curious to know what sort o' chap you've decided on," said Henley.
"I'd go to her now, but she'd not like it. She wouldn't look at me while the old man was talking. The sweet little thing is scared she don't know what at, but she's scared." Although Henley, now grown oddly timid himself, made several efforts within the next week to catch sight of Dixie, he failed signally. He began by haunting the cow-lot at milking-time, but she did not come as usual.
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