re.

The girl's vibrant voice came to him as she splashed at his heels toward
the bank. "He's such a ripping good one. I'm so pleased. How much do you
think he will weigh?"

The young man took the catch far enough back from the river, so that
they could examine him in safety.

"My guess is six pounds. He's the biggest taken this year so far. I
congratulate you, Miss Dwight."

"I would never have got him if you hadn't been there to help me with
advice. But I really did it all myself, didn't I? If you had touched the
rod before I had him netted I'd never have forgiven you," she confessed,
eyes glowing with the joy of her achievement.

"It's no joke to land one of these big fellows. I saw you were tired.
But it's the sporting thing to play your own fish."

Her dark eyes flashed a questioning glance at him. She had been brought
up in a society where class lines were closely drawn, but her experience
gave her no data for judging this young man's social standing. Casual
inquiries of old Ballard, the caretaker at the Lodge, had brought her
the information that the party of fishermen were miners from the hills.
This one went by the name of Crumbs and sometimes Jack. What puzzled
Miss Dwight was the difficulty of reconciling him with himself.
Sometimes he used the speech and the slow drawl of the plainsman, and
again he spoke with the correctness of one who has known good society.
In spite of his careless garb he had the look of class. The well-shaped,
lightly poised head, the level blue eyes of a man unafraid, the grace
with which he carried himself, all denied that he was an uncouth rustic.

A young woman of impulse, she yielded to an audacious one now. "I'm glad
you let me do the sporting thing, Mr.--Crumbs."

His gentle laughter welled out. "Where did you get that?"

"Isn't it your name?" she asked, with a lift of the dark eyebrows.

He hesitated, barely an instant. Of course she knew perfectly well that
it was not his name. But it suited him not to give one more definite.

"I reckon it's a name good enough to bring me to dinner by," he drawled,
smiling.

He was back again in the Western idiom and manner. She wondered why. The
change had come when she had spoken his name. A certain wariness had
settled over his face like a mask. She could see that he was purposely
taking refuge in the class distinctions that presumably separated them.
Yet she could have sworn that nothing had been farther from his mind
during t