"Er--yes, I believe I did see her once, come to think of it," he added honestly when memory prompted him.
Miss Bridger laughed, stopped, and laughed again.

"How Mama Joy would _hate_ you if she knew that!" she exclaimed relishfully.
"Why ?" "Oh, you wait! If ever I tell her that you--that _anybody_ ever met her and then forgot! Why, she knows the color of your hair and eyes, and she knows the pattern of that horsehair hat-band and the size of your boots--she _admires_ a man whose feet haven't two or three inches for every foot of his height--she says you wear fives, and you don't lack much of being six feet tall, and--" "Oh, for Heaven's sake!" protested Billy, very red and uncomfortable.
"What have I done to yuh that you throw it into me like that?
My hands are up--and they'll stay up if you'll only quit it." Miss Bridger looked at him sidelong and laughed to herself.

"That's to pay you for forgetting that you ever met Mama Joy," she asserted.

"I shouldn't be surprised if next week you'll have forgotten that you ever met _me_.

And if you do, after that chicken stew--" "You're a josher," said Billy helplessly, not being prepared to say just all he thought about the possibility of his forgetting her.