I think I'll go out and beg an invitation from that Hart boy--never can remember those kids by name--Gene, is it, or Jack ?" He went out upon the porch, laid a hand upon Jack's shoulder, and beamed down upon him with what would have passed easily for real affection while he announced that he was going to beg supper and a bed at the ranch, and wanted to know, as a solicitous after-thought, if Jack's mother had company, or anything that would make his presence a burden.
"Nobody's there--and, if there was, it wouldn't matter," Jack assured him carelessly.

"Go on down, if you want to.

It'll be all right with mother." "One thing I like about fishing down here," chuckled Baumberger, his fat fingers still resting lightly upon Jack's shoulder, "is the pleasure of eating my fish at your house.

There ain't another man, woman, or child in all Idaho can fry trout like your mother.

You needn't tell her I said so--but it's a fact, just the same.