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Ellsworth, solemnly; "only took one or two little ones, to celebrate the saving of the twin. You've made a great hit with those people over there. They'd all celebrate, if there was anything to drink. I had to stock the Lone Star myself out of my valise. They won't have anything in till Tom Osby comes.
"Tom," cried Dan Anderson, "don't!" But Tom Osby only trod half a pace closer, in that vague, never formulated, never admitted friendship of one man for another in a country which held real men. "Do you know, Dan," said he, "if I could just onct in my life hear that there song right out herself singin', words and all fiddles, like enough; maybe a pianny, too if I could just hear that!
She was a Georgia girl herself Alice Strowbridge was her name, and she had naturally a wonderful voice. She went to Paris and Italy to study long before I came out West. She first sang in Milan, and her appearance was a big success. She's made thousands and thousands of dollars." "About how old is she?" asked Tom Osby. "I should think about thirty-five," said Dan Anderson.
This with a twinkle which robbed his threat of terror, though Ellsworth took the advice presently and lay down under the wagon cover. "Don't mind him, Miss Constance," apologized Tom Osby. "He's only your father, anyhow, if it comes to the worst. But now tell me, what ails you? Say, now, you ain't sick, are you?"
"How did you happen to come?" asked Constance, feeling as she did so that she was guilty of treachery. Tom Osby again looked her straight in the face. "Just because we was naturally so blamed lonesome," said he. "That is to say, I was. I allowed I wanted to hear a woman sing. It wasn't him, it was me. He come along to take care of me, like, because he's used to that sort of thing, and I ain't.
"Gentlemen," Dan Anderson suggested, "let us go in and watch Tom Osby gettin' his savage breast soothed." Tom Osby started as he saw shadows on the floor; but it was too late. He was discovered sitting on the bed, in rapt attention to the machine industriously grinding away upon the table.
"No, don't bother him. We'll need him out on the Coast. Don't you know, we are just here in the mountains for a little while." "Don't you like these mountings, ma'am?" asked Tom Osby, sinking back into his seat. "I always did. They always remind me of the Smokies, in Car'lina, back South." "You came from the South?" "Georgy, ma'am." "Georgia!
Dan Anderson was the first to speak, after a silence which had fallen amidst the dense tobacco smoke. "It cost us less than fifteen dollars a plate," said he. "I've paid more for worse yes, a lot worse. But by the way, Mac, where's that other can of oysters? I thought you said there were four." "That's what I said," broke in Tom Osby.
He looked vaguely out over the blue hills which hedged in the enchanted valley of Heart's Desire. "It's always that-a-way," he repeated. "Somehow, somewhere, there's always a beautiful queen, for every fellow, just over the mountains. It's always that-a-way." Tom Osby reached out a hand and gently shook him. "Set up, Willie," said he. "Come down now, till we get this business fixed.
Truant to his trusts, forgetful of the box of candy which regularly he brought down from Vegas to the Littlest Girl, Curly's wife; forgetful of many messages, commercial and social, forgetful even of us, his sworn cronies, Tom Osby sat and listened to a voice which sang of a Face that was the Fairest, and of a Dark blue Eye.
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