’ ‘Because you are a pig!’ retorted Melusine hotly. The afternoon had passed now into twilight. . A pig, yes, a little. She was glad not to be baking in it anymore, or feeling the fiberglass splinters 64 invading her rear end from sitting on the bleachers. The Widgett method of thought puzzled her weakly rhetorical mind. While he was thus musing, two horsemen rode past him; and, proceeding to a little distance, stopped likewise. She opened this and scrambled out—a thing she had not done for five long years of adolescence— upon the leaded space above the built-out bath-room on the first floor. To stumble upon the trail through the agency of a bottle of whisky! Drank queer; so his bottle had rendered him conspicuous. . The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone.
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