The Dude Wrangler | Page 5

she wanted that she
was "one of them" almost before they knew it.
Mr. Stott was a rising young attorney of forty-eight, and it was
anticipated that he would one day be a leading trial lawyer because of
his aggressiveness.
Wallie's voice took on a sympathetic tone. He stopped in front of a
chair where a very thin young lady was reclining languidly.
"How's the bad heart to-day, Miss Eyester?"
"About as usual, Wallie, thank you," she replied, gratefully.
"Your lips have more colour."
Miss Eyester opened a handbag and, taking out a small, round mirror
which she carried for the purpose, inspected her lips critically.
"It does seem so," she admitted. "If I can just keep from getting
excited."
"I can't imagine a better place than The Colonial." The reply contained
a grain of irony.
"That's why I come here," Miss Eyester sighed, "though I'm pining to
go somewhere livelier."
Wallie wagged his head playfully.
"Treason! Treason! Why, you've been coming here for--" Miss
Eyester's alarmed expression caused him to finish lamely--"for ever so
long."
"Wallie!" It was his aunt's voice calling and he went instantly to a tall,
austere lady in a linen collar who was knitting wash-rags with the
feverish haste of a piece-worker in a factory.

He stood before her obediently.
"Don't go in to-day."
"Why, Auntie?" In his voice there was a world of disappointment.
"It's too rough--there must have been a storm at sea."
"But, Auntie," he protested, "I missed yesterday, taking Mrs. Appel to
the auction. It isn't very rough----"
"Look at the white-caps," she interrupted, curtly, "I don't want you to
go, Wallie."
"Oh, very well." 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. It was mocking; she was laughing at him for being
told not to go in bathing, as if he were a child of seven.
He sauntered past her, humming, to let her know that he did not care
what she thought about him. When he turned around she had vanished
and a few minutes after he saw her with her suit over her arm on the
way to the bath-house on the exclusive beach in front of The Colonial.
CHAPTER III
"PINKEY"
The train upon which Will Smith was expected was not due until
twelve-thirty, so, since he could not go swimming and still felt
rebellious over being forbidden, Wallie went upstairs to put the
finishing touches on a lemonade tray of japanned tin which he had
painted and intended presenting to Mr. Cone.

The design was his own, and very excellent it seemed to Wallie as he
stopped at intervals and held it from him. On a moss-green background
of rolling clouds a most artistic cluster of old-fashioned cabbage roses
was tossed carelessly, with a brown slug on a leaf as a touch of realism.
The gods have a way of apportioning their gifts unevenly, for not only
did Wallie paint but he wrote poetry--free verse mostly; free chiefly in
the sense that his contributions to the smaller magazines were, perforce,
gratuitous. Also he sang--if not divinely, at least so acceptably that his
services were constantly asked for charity concerts.
In addition to these he had manlier accomplishments, playing good
games of tennis, golf, and shuffle-board. Besides, Mr. Appel was his
only dangerous opponent on the bowling alley, and he had learned to
ride at the riding academy.
Now, as he worked, he speculated as to whether he had imagined it or
"the girl from Wyoming" really had laughed at him. He could not
dismiss her from his mind and the incident rankled. He told himself
that she had not been there long enough to appreciate him; she knew
nothing of his talents or of his popularity. She would learn that to be
singled out by him for special attention meant something, and he did
not consider himself a conceited man either.
Yet Wallie continued to tingle each time that he thought of the laughter
in her eyes--actual derision he feared it was. Then he had an idea, a
very clever one it seemed to him. By this time she would have returned
from bathing and he would go down and exhibit the cabbage roses.
They would be praised and she would hear it. It was nearly time for
Will Smith to arrive, and he had to stop painting, anyhow.
Bearing the lemonade tray carefully in order not to smudge it, Wallie
stepped out of the elevator and stood