My employer looked worried. Sally was in a regular cowgirl riding
costume, in which her trim, shapely figure showed at its best, and her
face was saucy, sparkling, daring.
"Good morning, Russ," said Miss Sampson and she gazed searchingly at me.
I had dropped off the fence, sombrero in hand. I knew I was in for a
lecture, and I put on a brazen, innocent air.
"Did you break your promise to me?" she asked reproachfully.
"Which one?" I asked. It was Sally's bright eyes upon me, rather than
Miss Sampson's reproach, that bothered me.
"About getting drunk again," she said.
"I didn't break _that_ one."
"My cousin George saw you in the Hope So gambling place last night,
drunk, staggering, mixing with that riffraff, on the verge of a brawl."
"Miss Sampson, with all due respect to Mr. Wright, I want to say that he
has a strange wish to lower me in the eyes of you ladies," I protested
with a fine show of spirit.
"Russ, _were_ you drunk?" she demanded.
"No. I should think you needn't ask me that. Didn't you ever see a man
the morning after a carouse?"
Evidently she had. And there I knew I stood, fresh, clean-shaven,
clear-eyed as the morning.
Sally's saucy face grew thoughtful, too.
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