"Its a damn shame the way the women go on about her." "Not all of them, surely," protested Mr.Porne.
"No, not all of 'em,--but enough of 'em to make mischief, you may be sure.

Women are the devil, sometimes." Mr.Porne smiled without answer, and Mr.Thaddler went sulking away--a bag of cakes bulging in his pocket.
The little wooden hotel in Jopalez boasted an extra visitor a few days later.

A big red faced man, who strolled about among the tradesmen, tried the barber's shop, loafed in the post office, hired a rig and traversed the length and breadth of the town, and who called on Mrs.
Warden, talking real estate with her most politely in spite of her protestation and the scornful looks of the four daughters; who bought tobacco and matches in the grocery store, and sat on the piazza thereof to smoke, as did other gentlemen of leisure.
Ross Warden occasionally leaned at the door jamb, with folded arms.

He never could learn to be easily sociable with ranchmen and teamsters.
Serve them he must, but chat with them he need not.

The stout gentleman essayed some conversation, but did not get far.