"Mr. Boyle, you've been awfully good," she rewarded him when it was over. "And I think Mr. Dill is fine! Do you know, he waltzes beautifully. I'm sure it was easy to keep my side of the bargain."
Billy noticed the slight, inquiring emphasis upon the word my, and he smiled down reassuringly into her face. "Uh course mine was pretty hard," he teased, "but I hope I made good, all right."
"You," she said, looking steadily up at him, "are just exactly what I said you were. You are comfortable."
Billy did a good deal of thinking while he saddled Barney in the gray of the morning, with Dill at a little distance, looking taller than ever in the half light. When he gave the saddle its final, little tentative shake and pulled the stirrup around so that he could stick in his toe, he gave also a snort of dissatisfaction.
"Hell!" he said to himself. "I don't know as I care about being too blame comfortable. There's a limit to that kinda thing--with her!"
"What's that?" called Dill, who had heard his voice.
"Aw, nothing," lied Billy, swinging up. "I was just cussing my hoss."