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Updated: June 26, 2025
Why, that Pinkey could not speak a grammatical sentence and they hung on his every word, breathless. It was disgusting! Wallie picked up a pebble and pelted a robin. He wished the undertow would catch that Spenceley girl. If he should reach her when she was going down for the third time she would have to thank him for saving her and that would about kill her.
She saw the dilated pupils, the abnormally full forehead, the few coarse hairs growing just above the eyelid, and they told her what she had suspected. "I am sorry I did not know it was you who was bidding on these horses," she said, turning to Wallie. "Did you want them, Miss Spenceley? I am sorry " "Want them? You couldn't give them to me. They are locoed!" "Locoed!"
He did not speak instantly, for his eye was roving over the veranda as if in search of somebody, and when it rested upon Miss Spenceley sitting alone at the far end he seemed satisfied and inquired solicitously of Mrs. Budlong: "Did you sleep well? You are looking splendid!" There were some points of resemblance between Mrs. Budlong and the oleander in the green tub beside which she was sitting.
They kicked out the camp-fire and rolled up in their respective blankets, Pinkey to die temporarily, and Wallie to lie awake listening to the roar of the river and speculating as to whether Helene Spenceley had any special prejudice against the dude business.
The realization that he was still a failure at this advanced age increased his misery. He was a fool to go on hoping that he meant anything to Helene Spenceley or ever would; but, just the same Wallie stood up and squared his shoulders if he couldn't have the woman he wanted there wouldn't be any other!
"I could have done as well myself if I had been able to get there." He added speculatively: "I suppose Canby and Miss Spenceley are engaged by now or married. Wallie hasn't mentioned it in his letters, has he?" Miss Macpherson replied in the negative. "He might not, anyway," remarked Mrs. Appel. "Helene was a nice girl, and attractive, but I could see that she did not interest him." Mrs.
He read aloud: "Helene Spenceley Prouty, Wyoming." Mr. Cone lowered his voice discreetly: "What was her explanation?" "She accused me of snoring!" declared Mr. Penrose, furiously. "I heard the clock strike every hour until morning! Not a wink have I slept not a wink, Mr. Cone!" "We can arrange this satisfactorily, Mr. Penrose," Mr. Cone smiled conciliatingly.
The series of misfortunes which had befallen him overwhelmed him. He had purchased a cow which not only gave no milk but had a vicious disposition. He had paid two prices for a pair of locoed horses that did their pulling backward. He had made himself a laughing stock to the entire country and seemed destined to play the clown somehow whenever Helene Spenceley was in the vicinity.
Wallie had thought that his aunt would surely relent to the extent of writing him a Christmas letter but, yesterday, after riding eight miles to look in the bluing box nailed to a post by the roadside, he had found that it had contained only a circular urging him to raise mushrooms in his cellar. Helene Spenceley, too, might have sent him a Christmas card or something.
He turned away abruptly, wondering if she realized how keenly he was disappointed a disappointment that was not made less by the fact that her fears were groundless, since not only was it not "rough" but he was an excellent swimmer. "The girl from Wyoming," as he called Miss Spenceley to himself, had overheard and was looking at him with an expression in her eyes which made him redden.
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