Of course Bill was just bluffing him.

But it was good sport." "Oh, lovely! I knew he'd do something." "Who?
Scottie ?" I asked, for her pronouns were perplexing.
"No!" she cried, "Bill! He promised he would, you know," she added.
"So you were at the bottom of it ?" I said, amazed.
"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" she kept crying, shrieking with laughter over Bill's cherishing opinions and desires.

"I shall be ill.

Dear old Bill.
He said he'd 'try to get a move on to him.'" Before I left that day, Bill himself came to the Old Timer's ranch, inquiring in a casual way "if the 'boss' was in." "Oh, Bill!" called out Gwen, "come in here at once; I want you." After some delay and some shuffling with hat and spurs, Bill lounged in and set his lank form upon the extreme end of a bench at the door, trying to look unconcerned as he remarked: "Gittin' cold.

Shouldn't wonder if we'd have a little snow." "Oh, come here," cried Gwen, impatiently, holding out her hand.