"Sure," he responded cheerfully.

"I'm something like you; I hate to break into a man's meditations.

It looks like snow." "Do you think it's going to storm ?" I retorted in the same tone; it had been snowing great guns for the last three hours.

We both laughed, and Frosty unbent and told me a lot about Bay State Ranch and the country around it.
Part of the information was an eye-opener; I wished I had known it when dad was handing out that roast to me--I rather think I could have made him cry enough.

I tagged the information and laid it away for future reference.
As I got the country mapped out in my mind, we were in a huge capital H.
The eastern line, toward which we were angling, was a river they call the Midas--though I'll never tell you why, unless it's a term ironical.