CHAPTER XVIIOf lovers she had a full score,Or more,And fortunes they all had galore,In store;From the minister downTo the clerk of the Crown,All were courting the Widow Malone,Ohone!All were courting the Widow Malone.—Charles LeverIn spite of his morose and surely somewhat fantastic constancy, which obsession, be it remarked, he was rather prone to exaggerate than minimize, and the bitter, hopeless philosophy with which he had come to regard his single and seemingly inevitable lot, it must be admitted that Ellis found his mind subconsciously reverting on many occasions during the next few weeks to the girl who had so unconventionally invaded his bachelor quarters.“Yes, begad! therewasa strong fascination about her,” he soliloquized. She was so totally different to any other woman who had come into his lonely life. Several times, too, he found this same compelling influence answerable for his change of direction as he found himself absently swinging off the main trail north into the one that diverged east and led to the Trainors’ ranch where, by now, he had come to be regarded as a regular and welcome visitor.The girl, on her part naturally enough, was by no means oblivious to the reason of his frequent calls, though she always greeted him with her customary careless, wide-eyed geniality, their acquaintance by now having ripened into the intimacy of teasing, playful badinage, at which pastime, needless to say, both of them excelled.With an innate delicacy that was only natural and instinctive in one come of his gentle birth and early breeding, he had forborne from ever asking her the reason that she was occupying the comparatively humble position of governess, lady companion, or—as she herself had put it—“what you will,” on a ranch. It puzzled him. When he had first met her the year previous she was then apparently traveling in state, plainly, although richly, dressed, with an elderly aunt, who—her disagreeable and snobbish manner notwithstanding—distinctly radiated every indication of imposing worldly affluence.Anyway, those were the impressions that he had formed in the brief glimpse afforded him of the two ladies on that occasion. On this head he one day casually sounded Dave Trainor, as the two of them lounged in the stable talking cattle and horse, preparatory to the Chinese cook’s shrill summons of “Glub pl-i-i-ile!” heralded with the customary knuckle tattoo on an inverted dishpan. Trainor, with a slight touch of reminiscent garrulity—a mannerism of his—and with his usual preface:“Now, see here; look! I’ll tell you how that is, Sergeant,” proceeded to enlighten him. “I’ve known that girl,” he began, “and all her family for many years back—ever since she was a little slip of a kid, in fact. I started out in life as a mining engineer. That’s my real profession, though I’ve been in the ranching business now for twenty years or more. It must have been in ’seventy-four, or thereabouts, when I first met her father—Terence O’Malley—in New York. He was a mining stockbroker then, and being more or less mixed up in the same class of business, we drifted together and became pretty chummy. He was a typical harum-scarum Irishman out of Ireland. One of those lovable, brilliant kind of ducks—the life and soul of whatever company he was in. A regular ‘Mickey Free.’ Of good birth and education, clever and shrewd in his business, but a proper gambler at heart, and impulsive and changeable as the wind. She’s very like him in many ways—got all his impulsiveness, witty humor and brogue, but without his selfishness and improvidence. Oh, he was sure some high flier, O’Malley. Made fortunes in one day—lost ’em the next. You know the way they run amuck on the Stock Exchange? He married a New York girl—think her name was Egan. Anyway,shewas of Irish extraction, too. This girl—Mary—is the eldest of the family. She’s got four brothers, but they all came some years later—there’s quite a space in between her and them. Somehow another they were all brought up and received pretty fair educations. The boys have got decent enough positions in various parts of the States—able to keep themselves now, at all events. They’re good kids enough, but inclined to be a bit wild—possess a lot of the characteristics of their old man. He died about three years ago—of disappointment and shock, when the final crash came in his fortunes. I guess his heart was weak.“It was a queer household, theirs, as you can imagine, with the fluctuating nature of the father’s income—and he was one of those who never dreamt of laying by for a rainy day. Yes,sir! I tell you there were hard struggles at times in that family. One week—on ‘Easy Street.’ The next—‘broke to the wide’—unable to pay the rent. O’Malley’s wife had died in giving birth to the last boy and afterwards, all through their ups and downs, that girl kept things as straight as she could. She was a regular mother to the boys in those days—has been all along. They’d have all gone to the devil long enough ago if it hadn’t been for her. She’s twenty-eight now, though she don’t look it. After her father died, she went to live with an aunt of hers—a Mrs. Gorman, of Philadelphia. She’s sure got the ‘rocks,’ all right, but I guess she’s about as disagreeable an old party as you could find. You’ve seen her, you say?” (Ellis nodded grimly.) “Well, her acquaintance doesn’t belie her face. I don’t know how on earth Mary stuck to her for so long. It was a case of ‘nowhere else to go,’ I guess, poor girl, and she’s very patient. Must have had a hard time of it, from what little she’s told us. She isn’t the bewailing sort that cry their troubles abroad to all and sundry they meet, but I suppose it got too thick for even her to stand any longer, so she decided to cut loose from ‘Aunty.’ She wrote to the wife, asking her if she knew of any position that she could earn her own living at over on this side. So that’s how it is she’s here, looking after Bert and Gwyn. Those kids just worship her. Seems she prefers this fresh air life to an office job. You might know that, anyway, by the look of her. I tell you, I respect and admire that girl, Benton. Hello! was that ‘Grub pile!’ just went? Come on in, or we’ll be getting a scolding for being late.”Slowly but, nevertheless surely, as the weeks, and gradually months, went by, and their intimacy increased, the inevitable happened to Ellis and Mary; for mere platonic friendship between two individuals of their warm-blooded natures was impossible amidst such surroundings, and by imperceptible degrees their mutual interest and liking for each other had developed into a stronger feeling.But still Ellis wavered. For the pessimistic ideas that he held regarding a Mounted Policeman’s general life, insufficient pay, and hazardous occupation—in the non-commissioned ranks, anyway—rendering him unfit for marriage ties, continued to obsess him and slightly warp his ordinarily generous, impulsive nature. The habits of years are not easily broken, and long companionship with Musgrave had not tended to mitigate his views. Since the death of his first love he had, in a great degree, held aloof from women’s society, keeping a tight curb on himself and rigidly repressing all his emotions. In whatever few convictions he possessed regarding the grand passion he was an idealist, and wedded bliss in the form of the average smug, thrifty marriage of convenience—contracted usually by the man of meager or moderate means—did not appeal to him at all.Whether or not the girl reciprocated his affection a characteristic lack of vanity precluded his knowing, for as yet there had been no love passages between them to warrant his believing so. He thought she liked, and was not altogether indifferent to him, and that was all.It is not to be supposed that he was entirely alone in his attentions to that debonair young woman. Her sex were not over numerous in the neighborhood, and she was therefore distinctly attractive to the various bachelors—young, middle-aged, and old—who resided within a twenty-mile radius of the Trainors’ establishment. Thus it may be inferred that she did not lack suitors, many of them admittedly eligible as regards their possession of worldly goods—a fact which Ellis forcibly realized at times, when the bitter consciousness of his own limited means and prospects would come home to him with cruel intensity.But the strong, sane, logical mind of the man predominated, and he kept himself well in hand. They had the prior right, he argued; for, plain and homely though most of them might be, they didn’t hang fire like him, anyway. They were in the position to give the girl a better home than he could ever hope to offer her. He would therefore be no “dog-in-the-manger” to stand in their way, he decided. So, whenever he chanced to find one of these would-be suitors ahead of him in the field, he always promptly excused himself and withdrew; which policy of self-effacement, be it remarked, piqued poor Mary not a little.He was not exactly made of the stuff that calculating, luke-warm, cautious lovers are prone to be composed of, but the fires of jealousy had once scorched him pretty severely and the memory of the lively torment that he had endured in those miserable days was still too vivid in his recollection to risk a possible repetition of that dread disease.He need have had no fear. One and all—irrespective of age, wealth, or appearance, she treated them with the same laughing impartiality, rendering to each the same answer. In kindly fashion at that, too, for she realized only as a dowerless spinster can, that the well-meaning, earnest love of an honest man is not a thing to be contemptuously cast aside or scoffed at. As often as not Ellis, nearing the Trainors’ ranch, with the intention of paying a visit, would chance to observe one of these rejected, love-lorn swains galloping or driving away in eccentric haste; and, hopelessly in love though he himself was, that fact did not, however, totally eclipse his sense of humor.He was only human, and the sight of a discomfitted rival beating an ignominious retreat—or as he (Ellis) put it—“chasing himself over the bald-headed,” was too irresistibly funny a spectacle to prevent a surly chuckle escaping him. And, postponing his intended visit just then, from motives of delicacy, he would ride on his way, in all probability, rejoicing.
CHAPTER XVIIOf lovers she had a full score,Or more,And fortunes they all had galore,In store;From the minister downTo the clerk of the Crown,All were courting the Widow Malone,Ohone!All were courting the Widow Malone.—Charles LeverIn spite of his morose and surely somewhat fantastic constancy, which obsession, be it remarked, he was rather prone to exaggerate than minimize, and the bitter, hopeless philosophy with which he had come to regard his single and seemingly inevitable lot, it must be admitted that Ellis found his mind subconsciously reverting on many occasions during the next few weeks to the girl who had so unconventionally invaded his bachelor quarters.“Yes, begad! therewasa strong fascination about her,” he soliloquized. She was so totally different to any other woman who had come into his lonely life. Several times, too, he found this same compelling influence answerable for his change of direction as he found himself absently swinging off the main trail north into the one that diverged east and led to the Trainors’ ranch where, by now, he had come to be regarded as a regular and welcome visitor.The girl, on her part naturally enough, was by no means oblivious to the reason of his frequent calls, though she always greeted him with her customary careless, wide-eyed geniality, their acquaintance by now having ripened into the intimacy of teasing, playful badinage, at which pastime, needless to say, both of them excelled.With an innate delicacy that was only natural and instinctive in one come of his gentle birth and early breeding, he had forborne from ever asking her the reason that she was occupying the comparatively humble position of governess, lady companion, or—as she herself had put it—“what you will,” on a ranch. It puzzled him. When he had first met her the year previous she was then apparently traveling in state, plainly, although richly, dressed, with an elderly aunt, who—her disagreeable and snobbish manner notwithstanding—distinctly radiated every indication of imposing worldly affluence.Anyway, those were the impressions that he had formed in the brief glimpse afforded him of the two ladies on that occasion. On this head he one day casually sounded Dave Trainor, as the two of them lounged in the stable talking cattle and horse, preparatory to the Chinese cook’s shrill summons of “Glub pl-i-i-ile!” heralded with the customary knuckle tattoo on an inverted dishpan. Trainor, with a slight touch of reminiscent garrulity—a mannerism of his—and with his usual preface:“Now, see here; look! I’ll tell you how that is, Sergeant,” proceeded to enlighten him. “I’ve known that girl,” he began, “and all her family for many years back—ever since she was a little slip of a kid, in fact. I started out in life as a mining engineer. That’s my real profession, though I’ve been in the ranching business now for twenty years or more. It must have been in ’seventy-four, or thereabouts, when I first met her father—Terence O’Malley—in New York. He was a mining stockbroker then, and being more or less mixed up in the same class of business, we drifted together and became pretty chummy. He was a typical harum-scarum Irishman out of Ireland. One of those lovable, brilliant kind of ducks—the life and soul of whatever company he was in. A regular ‘Mickey Free.’ Of good birth and education, clever and shrewd in his business, but a proper gambler at heart, and impulsive and changeable as the wind. She’s very like him in many ways—got all his impulsiveness, witty humor and brogue, but without his selfishness and improvidence. Oh, he was sure some high flier, O’Malley. Made fortunes in one day—lost ’em the next. You know the way they run amuck on the Stock Exchange? He married a New York girl—think her name was Egan. Anyway,shewas of Irish extraction, too. This girl—Mary—is the eldest of the family. She’s got four brothers, but they all came some years later—there’s quite a space in between her and them. Somehow another they were all brought up and received pretty fair educations. The boys have got decent enough positions in various parts of the States—able to keep themselves now, at all events. They’re good kids enough, but inclined to be a bit wild—possess a lot of the characteristics of their old man. He died about three years ago—of disappointment and shock, when the final crash came in his fortunes. I guess his heart was weak.“It was a queer household, theirs, as you can imagine, with the fluctuating nature of the father’s income—and he was one of those who never dreamt of laying by for a rainy day. Yes,sir! I tell you there were hard struggles at times in that family. One week—on ‘Easy Street.’ The next—‘broke to the wide’—unable to pay the rent. O’Malley’s wife had died in giving birth to the last boy and afterwards, all through their ups and downs, that girl kept things as straight as she could. She was a regular mother to the boys in those days—has been all along. They’d have all gone to the devil long enough ago if it hadn’t been for her. She’s twenty-eight now, though she don’t look it. After her father died, she went to live with an aunt of hers—a Mrs. Gorman, of Philadelphia. She’s sure got the ‘rocks,’ all right, but I guess she’s about as disagreeable an old party as you could find. You’ve seen her, you say?” (Ellis nodded grimly.) “Well, her acquaintance doesn’t belie her face. I don’t know how on earth Mary stuck to her for so long. It was a case of ‘nowhere else to go,’ I guess, poor girl, and she’s very patient. Must have had a hard time of it, from what little she’s told us. She isn’t the bewailing sort that cry their troubles abroad to all and sundry they meet, but I suppose it got too thick for even her to stand any longer, so she decided to cut loose from ‘Aunty.’ She wrote to the wife, asking her if she knew of any position that she could earn her own living at over on this side. So that’s how it is she’s here, looking after Bert and Gwyn. Those kids just worship her. Seems she prefers this fresh air life to an office job. You might know that, anyway, by the look of her. I tell you, I respect and admire that girl, Benton. Hello! was that ‘Grub pile!’ just went? Come on in, or we’ll be getting a scolding for being late.”Slowly but, nevertheless surely, as the weeks, and gradually months, went by, and their intimacy increased, the inevitable happened to Ellis and Mary; for mere platonic friendship between two individuals of their warm-blooded natures was impossible amidst such surroundings, and by imperceptible degrees their mutual interest and liking for each other had developed into a stronger feeling.But still Ellis wavered. For the pessimistic ideas that he held regarding a Mounted Policeman’s general life, insufficient pay, and hazardous occupation—in the non-commissioned ranks, anyway—rendering him unfit for marriage ties, continued to obsess him and slightly warp his ordinarily generous, impulsive nature. The habits of years are not easily broken, and long companionship with Musgrave had not tended to mitigate his views. Since the death of his first love he had, in a great degree, held aloof from women’s society, keeping a tight curb on himself and rigidly repressing all his emotions. In whatever few convictions he possessed regarding the grand passion he was an idealist, and wedded bliss in the form of the average smug, thrifty marriage of convenience—contracted usually by the man of meager or moderate means—did not appeal to him at all.Whether or not the girl reciprocated his affection a characteristic lack of vanity precluded his knowing, for as yet there had been no love passages between them to warrant his believing so. He thought she liked, and was not altogether indifferent to him, and that was all.It is not to be supposed that he was entirely alone in his attentions to that debonair young woman. Her sex were not over numerous in the neighborhood, and she was therefore distinctly attractive to the various bachelors—young, middle-aged, and old—who resided within a twenty-mile radius of the Trainors’ establishment. Thus it may be inferred that she did not lack suitors, many of them admittedly eligible as regards their possession of worldly goods—a fact which Ellis forcibly realized at times, when the bitter consciousness of his own limited means and prospects would come home to him with cruel intensity.But the strong, sane, logical mind of the man predominated, and he kept himself well in hand. They had the prior right, he argued; for, plain and homely though most of them might be, they didn’t hang fire like him, anyway. They were in the position to give the girl a better home than he could ever hope to offer her. He would therefore be no “dog-in-the-manger” to stand in their way, he decided. So, whenever he chanced to find one of these would-be suitors ahead of him in the field, he always promptly excused himself and withdrew; which policy of self-effacement, be it remarked, piqued poor Mary not a little.He was not exactly made of the stuff that calculating, luke-warm, cautious lovers are prone to be composed of, but the fires of jealousy had once scorched him pretty severely and the memory of the lively torment that he had endured in those miserable days was still too vivid in his recollection to risk a possible repetition of that dread disease.He need have had no fear. One and all—irrespective of age, wealth, or appearance, she treated them with the same laughing impartiality, rendering to each the same answer. In kindly fashion at that, too, for she realized only as a dowerless spinster can, that the well-meaning, earnest love of an honest man is not a thing to be contemptuously cast aside or scoffed at. As often as not Ellis, nearing the Trainors’ ranch, with the intention of paying a visit, would chance to observe one of these rejected, love-lorn swains galloping or driving away in eccentric haste; and, hopelessly in love though he himself was, that fact did not, however, totally eclipse his sense of humor.He was only human, and the sight of a discomfitted rival beating an ignominious retreat—or as he (Ellis) put it—“chasing himself over the bald-headed,” was too irresistibly funny a spectacle to prevent a surly chuckle escaping him. And, postponing his intended visit just then, from motives of delicacy, he would ride on his way, in all probability, rejoicing.
Of lovers she had a full score,Or more,And fortunes they all had galore,In store;From the minister downTo the clerk of the Crown,All were courting the Widow Malone,Ohone!All were courting the Widow Malone.—Charles Lever
Of lovers she had a full score,Or more,And fortunes they all had galore,In store;From the minister downTo the clerk of the Crown,All were courting the Widow Malone,Ohone!All were courting the Widow Malone.—Charles Lever
Of lovers she had a full score,
Or more,
Or more,
Or more,
And fortunes they all had galore,
In store;From the minister downTo the clerk of the Crown,
In store;
In store;
From the minister down
To the clerk of the Crown,
All were courting the Widow Malone,
Ohone!
Ohone!
Ohone!
All were courting the Widow Malone.
—Charles Lever
In spite of his morose and surely somewhat fantastic constancy, which obsession, be it remarked, he was rather prone to exaggerate than minimize, and the bitter, hopeless philosophy with which he had come to regard his single and seemingly inevitable lot, it must be admitted that Ellis found his mind subconsciously reverting on many occasions during the next few weeks to the girl who had so unconventionally invaded his bachelor quarters.
“Yes, begad! therewasa strong fascination about her,” he soliloquized. She was so totally different to any other woman who had come into his lonely life. Several times, too, he found this same compelling influence answerable for his change of direction as he found himself absently swinging off the main trail north into the one that diverged east and led to the Trainors’ ranch where, by now, he had come to be regarded as a regular and welcome visitor.
The girl, on her part naturally enough, was by no means oblivious to the reason of his frequent calls, though she always greeted him with her customary careless, wide-eyed geniality, their acquaintance by now having ripened into the intimacy of teasing, playful badinage, at which pastime, needless to say, both of them excelled.
With an innate delicacy that was only natural and instinctive in one come of his gentle birth and early breeding, he had forborne from ever asking her the reason that she was occupying the comparatively humble position of governess, lady companion, or—as she herself had put it—“what you will,” on a ranch. It puzzled him. When he had first met her the year previous she was then apparently traveling in state, plainly, although richly, dressed, with an elderly aunt, who—her disagreeable and snobbish manner notwithstanding—distinctly radiated every indication of imposing worldly affluence.
Anyway, those were the impressions that he had formed in the brief glimpse afforded him of the two ladies on that occasion. On this head he one day casually sounded Dave Trainor, as the two of them lounged in the stable talking cattle and horse, preparatory to the Chinese cook’s shrill summons of “Glub pl-i-i-ile!” heralded with the customary knuckle tattoo on an inverted dishpan. Trainor, with a slight touch of reminiscent garrulity—a mannerism of his—and with his usual preface:
“Now, see here; look! I’ll tell you how that is, Sergeant,” proceeded to enlighten him. “I’ve known that girl,” he began, “and all her family for many years back—ever since she was a little slip of a kid, in fact. I started out in life as a mining engineer. That’s my real profession, though I’ve been in the ranching business now for twenty years or more. It must have been in ’seventy-four, or thereabouts, when I first met her father—Terence O’Malley—in New York. He was a mining stockbroker then, and being more or less mixed up in the same class of business, we drifted together and became pretty chummy. He was a typical harum-scarum Irishman out of Ireland. One of those lovable, brilliant kind of ducks—the life and soul of whatever company he was in. A regular ‘Mickey Free.’ Of good birth and education, clever and shrewd in his business, but a proper gambler at heart, and impulsive and changeable as the wind. She’s very like him in many ways—got all his impulsiveness, witty humor and brogue, but without his selfishness and improvidence. Oh, he was sure some high flier, O’Malley. Made fortunes in one day—lost ’em the next. You know the way they run amuck on the Stock Exchange? He married a New York girl—think her name was Egan. Anyway,shewas of Irish extraction, too. This girl—Mary—is the eldest of the family. She’s got four brothers, but they all came some years later—there’s quite a space in between her and them. Somehow another they were all brought up and received pretty fair educations. The boys have got decent enough positions in various parts of the States—able to keep themselves now, at all events. They’re good kids enough, but inclined to be a bit wild—possess a lot of the characteristics of their old man. He died about three years ago—of disappointment and shock, when the final crash came in his fortunes. I guess his heart was weak.
“It was a queer household, theirs, as you can imagine, with the fluctuating nature of the father’s income—and he was one of those who never dreamt of laying by for a rainy day. Yes,sir! I tell you there were hard struggles at times in that family. One week—on ‘Easy Street.’ The next—‘broke to the wide’—unable to pay the rent. O’Malley’s wife had died in giving birth to the last boy and afterwards, all through their ups and downs, that girl kept things as straight as she could. She was a regular mother to the boys in those days—has been all along. They’d have all gone to the devil long enough ago if it hadn’t been for her. She’s twenty-eight now, though she don’t look it. After her father died, she went to live with an aunt of hers—a Mrs. Gorman, of Philadelphia. She’s sure got the ‘rocks,’ all right, but I guess she’s about as disagreeable an old party as you could find. You’ve seen her, you say?” (Ellis nodded grimly.) “Well, her acquaintance doesn’t belie her face. I don’t know how on earth Mary stuck to her for so long. It was a case of ‘nowhere else to go,’ I guess, poor girl, and she’s very patient. Must have had a hard time of it, from what little she’s told us. She isn’t the bewailing sort that cry their troubles abroad to all and sundry they meet, but I suppose it got too thick for even her to stand any longer, so she decided to cut loose from ‘Aunty.’ She wrote to the wife, asking her if she knew of any position that she could earn her own living at over on this side. So that’s how it is she’s here, looking after Bert and Gwyn. Those kids just worship her. Seems she prefers this fresh air life to an office job. You might know that, anyway, by the look of her. I tell you, I respect and admire that girl, Benton. Hello! was that ‘Grub pile!’ just went? Come on in, or we’ll be getting a scolding for being late.”
Slowly but, nevertheless surely, as the weeks, and gradually months, went by, and their intimacy increased, the inevitable happened to Ellis and Mary; for mere platonic friendship between two individuals of their warm-blooded natures was impossible amidst such surroundings, and by imperceptible degrees their mutual interest and liking for each other had developed into a stronger feeling.
But still Ellis wavered. For the pessimistic ideas that he held regarding a Mounted Policeman’s general life, insufficient pay, and hazardous occupation—in the non-commissioned ranks, anyway—rendering him unfit for marriage ties, continued to obsess him and slightly warp his ordinarily generous, impulsive nature. The habits of years are not easily broken, and long companionship with Musgrave had not tended to mitigate his views. Since the death of his first love he had, in a great degree, held aloof from women’s society, keeping a tight curb on himself and rigidly repressing all his emotions. In whatever few convictions he possessed regarding the grand passion he was an idealist, and wedded bliss in the form of the average smug, thrifty marriage of convenience—contracted usually by the man of meager or moderate means—did not appeal to him at all.
Whether or not the girl reciprocated his affection a characteristic lack of vanity precluded his knowing, for as yet there had been no love passages between them to warrant his believing so. He thought she liked, and was not altogether indifferent to him, and that was all.
It is not to be supposed that he was entirely alone in his attentions to that debonair young woman. Her sex were not over numerous in the neighborhood, and she was therefore distinctly attractive to the various bachelors—young, middle-aged, and old—who resided within a twenty-mile radius of the Trainors’ establishment. Thus it may be inferred that she did not lack suitors, many of them admittedly eligible as regards their possession of worldly goods—a fact which Ellis forcibly realized at times, when the bitter consciousness of his own limited means and prospects would come home to him with cruel intensity.
But the strong, sane, logical mind of the man predominated, and he kept himself well in hand. They had the prior right, he argued; for, plain and homely though most of them might be, they didn’t hang fire like him, anyway. They were in the position to give the girl a better home than he could ever hope to offer her. He would therefore be no “dog-in-the-manger” to stand in their way, he decided. So, whenever he chanced to find one of these would-be suitors ahead of him in the field, he always promptly excused himself and withdrew; which policy of self-effacement, be it remarked, piqued poor Mary not a little.
He was not exactly made of the stuff that calculating, luke-warm, cautious lovers are prone to be composed of, but the fires of jealousy had once scorched him pretty severely and the memory of the lively torment that he had endured in those miserable days was still too vivid in his recollection to risk a possible repetition of that dread disease.
He need have had no fear. One and all—irrespective of age, wealth, or appearance, she treated them with the same laughing impartiality, rendering to each the same answer. In kindly fashion at that, too, for she realized only as a dowerless spinster can, that the well-meaning, earnest love of an honest man is not a thing to be contemptuously cast aside or scoffed at. As often as not Ellis, nearing the Trainors’ ranch, with the intention of paying a visit, would chance to observe one of these rejected, love-lorn swains galloping or driving away in eccentric haste; and, hopelessly in love though he himself was, that fact did not, however, totally eclipse his sense of humor.
He was only human, and the sight of a discomfitted rival beating an ignominious retreat—or as he (Ellis) put it—“chasing himself over the bald-headed,” was too irresistibly funny a spectacle to prevent a surly chuckle escaping him. And, postponing his intended visit just then, from motives of delicacy, he would ride on his way, in all probability, rejoicing.