The other, old enough to regard feminine beauty as a trap and an illusion, turned aside to empty his mouth of a quid of tobacco, bent over, and pointed under the trees.
"Can't miss it--third tent-house on your right, with canvas striped like a barber-pole.

That phonnygraff you hear is at Bill's." "Thank you." She went on.
Behind her, the two men stood where she had left them.

They did not move.
The younger man seemed scarcely to breathe.
"Bill's place!" he gasped then.

"I've a notion to tell her.

I can't believe----" "Shucks!" interjected the other.
"But I don't.