No, she was not dreaming; there was an odor in the room--his odor, with that of a saloon added to it.
After cooking and eating supper he had taken the jug from its concealment behind the woodbox and had proceeded to cheer his drooped spirits.

The more he drank the better content he was with himself, with his conduct, and the clearer became his conviction that the girl was simply playing woman's familiar game of dainty modesty.

A proper game it was too; only a man must not pay attention to it unless he wished his woman to despise him.

When this conviction reached the point of action he put away the jug, washed the glass, ate a liberal mouthful of the left-over stewed onions, as he would not for worlds have his bride catch him tippling.

He put out the lamp and went to the bedroom, chuckling to himself like a man about to play a particularly clever and extremely good-humored practical joke.
His preparations for the night were, as always, extremely simple merely a flinging off of his outer clothes and, in summer, his socks.