" Kitty, clinging shyly to the side of the doorway, tried
to gain confidence from his unease. "I was already awake. Is it a
range song you were singing?"
"Yes'm. Cattle range, not kitchen range."
A wan little smile greeted his joke. The effect on Johnnie himself was
more pronounced. It gave him confidence in his ability to meet the
situation. He had not known before that he was a wit and the discovery
of it tickled his self-esteem.
"'Course we didn't really clean up no Indians nor drink all the alkali.
Tha's jes' in the song, as you might say." He began to bustle about in
preparation for her breakfast.
"Please don't trouble. I'll eat what you've got cooked," she begged.
"It's no trouble, ma'am. If the's a thing on earth I enjoy doin' it's
sure cookin'. Do you like yore aigs sunny side up or turned?"
"Either way. Whichever you like, Mr. Green."
"You're eatin' them," Johnnie reminded her with a grin.
"On one side, then, please. Mr. Lindsay says you're a fine cook."
"Sho! I'm no great shakes. Clay he jes' brags on me."
"Lemme eat here in the kitchen. Then you won't have to set the table
in the other room," she said.
The puncher's instinct was to make a spread on the dining-table for
her, but it came to him with a flash of insight that it would be wise
to let her eat in the kitchen. She would feel more as though she
belonged and was not a guest of an hour.
While she ate he waited on her solicitously.
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