"I dunno," said the maiden, with one eye upon him and the other plunging
into the future. "There ain't no trusting men. Take 'em by the lot and
they're awful forgetful."
"If you knowed me better," said Buck sadly, disposing of a slab of bread
spread thick with the pale butter and following this with a pile of
fried potatoes astutely balanced on his knife. "If you knowed me better,
ma'am, you wouldn't have no suspicions."
"What might it be that you been doin'?" asked the girl.
Buck Daniels paused in his attack on the food and stared at her.
He quoted deftly from a magazine which had once fallen in his way: "Some
day maybe I can tell you. There's something about your eyes that tells
me you'd understand."
At the mention of her eyes the waitress blinked and stiffened in her
chair, while a huge, red fist balled itself in readiness for action. But
the expression of Buck Daniels was as blandly open as the smile of
infancy. The lady relaxed and an unmistakable blush tinged even her nose
with colour.
"It ain't after my nature to be askin' questions," she announced. "You
don't have to tell me no more'n you want to."
"Thanks," said Buck instantly. "I knew you was that kind. It ain't
hard," he went on smoothly, "to tell a lady when you see one. I can tell
you this much to start with. I'm lookin' for a quiet town where I can
settle down permanent. And as far as I can see, Brownsville looks sort
of quiet to me.
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