“Troubles, my friend,” she exclaimed lightly. ” “It is you,” he cried, “you, who are talking folly, when you speak of friendship between you and me. , you know, fair and square. This did not affect Spurlock. Everything was fresh and bright, from the kindly manners of the Frutigen cobbler, who hammered mountain nails into her boots, to the unfamiliar wild flowers that spangled the wayside. Do you know, I envy you. Her time and effort was justly rewarded, because the hard cold facts she knew about neighborhood intrigues were better than fictional soap operas. ’ He sat up.
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