illings to hear him say, 'It's perfect' ... no
'all but,' you notice. Why, miss, I could 'a' got a hundred ordin-ar-y
girls, lookers too. The world's full of lookers."

"Why didn't you offer your--'job' to Babe or Girlie?"

Sylvester laughed. "Well, girl, as a matter of fact, I did."

"You did?" Sheila turned back and faced him. There was plenty of color
in her cheeks now. Her narrow eyes were widely opened. Astonishingly
large and clear they were, when she so opened them.

"Yes'm." Sylvester glanced aside for an instant.

"And what did they say?"

"They balked," Sylvester admitted calmly. "They're fine girls, Miss
Sheila. And they're lookers. But they just aren't quite fine enough.
They're not artists, like your Poppa and like you--and like me."

Sheila put a hand up to her cheek. Her eyes came back to their accustomed
narrowness and a look of doubt stole into her face.

"Artists?"

"Yes'm." Sylvester had begun to walk about. "Artists. Why, what's an
artist but a person with a dream he wants to make real? My dream's--The
Aura, girl. For three years now"--he half-shut his eyes and moved his arm
in front of him as though he were putting in the broad first lines of a
picture--"I've seen that girl there back of my bar--shining and _good_
and fine--not the sort of a girl a man'd be lookin' for, mind you, just
_not_ that! A girl that would sort of take your breath. Say, picture it,
Sheila!" He stood by her and pointed it out as though he showed her a
view. "You're a cowboy. And you come ridin' in, bone-tired, dusty, with a
_thirst_. Well, sir, a thirst in your throat and a thirst in your heart
and a thirst in your soul. You're wantin' re-freshment. For your body
and your eyes and your mind. Well, ma'am, you tie your pony up there and
you push open those doors and you push 'em open and step plumb into
Paradise. It's cool in there--I'm picturin' a July evenin', Miss
Sheila--and it's quiet and it's shining clean. And there's a big man in
white who's servin' drinks--cold drinks with a grand smell. That's my man
Carthy. He keeps order. You bet you, he does keep it too. And beside him
stands a girl. Well, she's the kind of girl you--the cowboy--would 'a'
dreamed about, lyin' out in your blanket under the stars, if you'd 'a'
knowed enough to be able to dream about her. After you've set eyes on
her, you don't dream about any other kind of girl. And just seein' her
there so sweet and bright and dainty-like, makes a different