Fatty, turning back to the stove, shook his head; he was more than ever convinced in his secret theory that all women are crazy.
Sally found that a new man had entered, one whom she could not remember having seen before.

She went to him at once, for it seemed to her that she would die, indeed, if she had to look much longer on the familiar, unshaven faces of the other men in the room.
"Anything you got," said the stranger, who was broad of hands and thick of neck and he cast an anxious eye on her.

"I hear you seen something of a thinnish, dark feller named Bard." "What d'_you_ want with him ?" asked Sally with dangerous calm.
"I was aimin' to meet up with him.

That's all." "Partner, if you want to stand in solid around here, don't let out that you're a friend of his.

He ain't none too popular; that's straight and puttin' it nice and easy." "Which who said I was his friend ?" said the other with heat.
She turned away to the kitchen and reappeared shortly, bearing his meal.
The frown with which she departed had disappeared, and she was smiling as brightly as ever while she arranged the dishes in front of him.