"
"Oh, Bill!" called out Gwen, "come in here at once; I want you."
After some delay and some shuffling with hat and spurs, Bill lounged
in and set his lank form upon the extreme end of a bench at the door,
trying to look unconcerned as he remarked: "Gittin' cold. Shouldn't
wonder if we'd have a little snow."
"Oh, come here," cried Gwen, impatiently, holding out her hand. "Come
here and shake hands."
Bill hesitated, spat out into the other room his quid of tobacco, and
swayed awkwardly across the room toward the bed, and, taking Gwen's
hand, he shook it up and down, and hurriedly said:
"Fine day, ma'am; hope I see you quite well."
"No; you don't," cried Gwen, laughing immoderately, but keeping hold
of Bill's hand, to his great confusion. "I'm not well a bit, but I'm a
great deal better since hearing of your meeting, Bill."
To this Bill made no reply, being entirely engrossed in getting his
hard, bony, brown hand out of the grasp of the white, clinging fingers.
"Oh, Bill," went on Gwen, "it was delightful! How did you do it?"
But Bill, who had by this time got back to his seat at the door,
pretended ignorance of any achievement calling for remark. He "hadn't
done nothin' more out ov the way than usual."
"Oh, don't talk nonsense!" cried Gwen, impatiently.
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