Bank, and, remembering at the same time
something that the girl from Cheyenne had said about his smile, he caught
Sheila's eye deliberately and made use of his dimple.

"What do you like?" he asked. "If you tell me what you like, I--I'll see
that you get it."

"You're very powerful, aren't you? You sound like a fairy godmother."

"You look like a fairy. That's just what you do look like."

"I like horses much better than motors," said Sheila. "I thought the West
would be full of adorable little ponies. I thought you'd ride like
wizards, bucking--you know."

"Well, I can ride. But, I guess you've been going to the movies or the
Wild West shows. This town _must_ seem kind of dead after Noo York."

"I hate the movies," said Sheila sweetly.

"Say, it would be easy to get a pony for you as soon as the snow goes. I
sold my horse when Dad bought me my Ford."

"Sold him? Sold your own special horse!"

"Well, yes, Miss Arundel. Does that make you think awfully bad of me?"

"Yes. It does. It makes me think _awfully_ 'bad' of you. If I had a
horse, I'd--I'd tie him to my bedpost at night and feed him on
rose-leaves and tie ribbons in his mane."

Jim laughed, delighted at her childishness. It brought back something of
his own assurance.

"I don't think Pap Hudson would quite stand for that, would he? Seems to
me as if--"

But here his partner stopped short, turned against his arm, and her face
shone with a sudden friendly sweetness of surprise. "There's Dickie!"

She left Jim, she slipped across the floor. Dickie limped toward her. His
face was white.

"Dickie! I'm so glad you came. Somehow I didn't expect you to be here.
But you're lame! Then you can't dance. What a shame. After Mr. Greely and
I have finished this, could you sit one out with me?"

"Yes'm," whispered Dickie.

He was not as inexpressive as it might seem however. His face, a rather
startling face here in this crowded, boisterous room, a face that seemed
to have come in out of the night bringing with it a quality of eternal
childhood, of quaint, half-forgotten dreams--his face was very
expressive. So much so, that Sheila, embarrassed, went back almost
abruptly to Jim. Her smile was left to bewilder Dickie. He began to
describe it to himself. And this was the first time a woman had stirred
that mysterious trouble in his brain.

"It's not like a smile at all," thought Dickie, the dancing crowd
invisible to him; "it's like something--it's--what is