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“Why, they know what you say—mind!” May Nell exclaimed, admiringly. His fork having safely landed its cargo, Mr. Wopp laid it carefully down and remarking, “I must make a note of that,” he began to inscribe Nell’s diplomatic request. As he leaned over the paper, his head shone like a round china lamp-shade, its shining expanse relieved here and there, by long wisps of grey hair. CHAPTER VIII.—BETTY VISITS THE CITY OF HER DREAMS..
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For five hundred dollars a week he had pranced to the admiring vaudeville audience; but once let the artist lay bare his soul in real music and whispering reaches his ear. But there was no use complaining, no one could understand his disgust. “Now, Mose, fer the elbow. Stiddy! Don’t shove! Don’t pull! Hole her stiddy!” “It was quite all right,” answered Nell, anxiously watching for the reappearance of Mr. Wopp’s knife, “Mr. Eliot gave me a glorious drive over the prairie behind his team of greys, but,” with a sly look towards the young rancher, “I don’t believe he likes to meet trains.” Betty was trying to keep up the engaging flow of talk but the dance proved to require all her attention..
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