Part 43 (1/2)

And the two men felt that that which was not forgotten was at least forgiven--would never again be mentioned.

”And me kitchen,” said Sundown, leading the way, ”is Neeter's. She runs it. There's more good eats comes out of it than they is fancy crockery in it, which just suits me. And out here”--and the party progressed to the back yard--”is me new corral and stable and chicken-coop. I made all them improvements meself, durin' the winter.

Reckon you saw the gasoline-engine what does the pumpin' for the tanks.

I wanted to have a windmill, but the engine works faster. It's kind of hot, ma'am, and if you'll come in and set down I reckon me wife's got her hair--”

”Wah! Wah! Wah!” came in a crescendo from the bedroom.

Sundown straightened his shoulders. ”Gee Gosh, he's gone and give it away, already!”

Corliss and his wife glanced at their host inquisitively.

”Me latest improvement,” said Sundown, bowing, as Anita, a plump brown baby on her arm, opened the bedroom door and stood bashfully looking at the strangers.

”And me wife,” he added.

Corliss bowed, but Margery rushed to Anita and held out her arms. ”Oh, let me take him!” she cried. ”What big brown eyes! Let me hold him!

I'll be awfully careful! Isn't he sweet!”

They moved to the living-room where Anita and Margery sat side by side on the couch with the baby absorbing all their attention.

Sundown stalked about the room, his hands in his pockets, vainly endeavoring to appear very mannish and unconcerned, but his eye roved unceasingly to the baby. He was the longest and most upstanding six-feet-four of proud father that Margery or her husband had ever had the pleasure of meeting.

”He's got Neeter's eyes--and--and her--complexion, but he's sure got me style. He measures up two-feet-six by the yardstick what we got with buyin' a case of bakin'-soda, and he ain't a yearlin' yet. I don't just recollec' the day but I reckon Neeter knows.”

”He's great!” exclaimed Corliss. ”Isn't he, Margery?”

”He's just the cutest little brown baby!” said Margery, hugging the plump little body.

”He--he ain't so _turruble_ brown,” a.s.serted Sundown. ”'Course, he's tanned up some, seein' we keep him outside lots. I'm kind o' tanned up meself, and I reckon he takes after me.”

”He has a head shaped just like yours,” said Margery, anxious to please the proud father.

”Then,” said Sundown solemnly, ”he's goin' to be a pole.”

Anita, proud of her offspring, her husband, her neat and clean home, laughed softly, and held out her arms for the baby. With a kick and a struggle the young Sundown wriggled to her arms and snuggled against her, gravely inspecting the pink roses on his mother's white dress.

They were new to him. He was more used to blue gingham. The roses were interesting.

”Yes, Billy's me latest improvement,” said Sundown, anxious to a.s.sert himself in view of the presence of so much femininity and a correspondingly seeming lack of vital interest in anything save the baby.

”Billy!” said Corliss, turning from where he had stood gazing out of the window.

”Uhuh! We named him Billy after you.”

Corliss turned again to the window.

Sundown stepped to him, misinterpreting his silence. He put his hand on Corliss's shoulder. ”You ain't mad 'cause we called him that, be you?”

”Mad! Say, Sun,”--and Corliss laughed, choked, and brushed his eyes.