'
"Life's too short to waste any of it in being uselessly miserable.
Come on out and go for a ride on Silk. I'll take you up on a
mountainside, and show you a waterfall that leaps three hundred feet in
the clear. The woods are waking up and putting on their Easter
bonnets. There's beauty everywhere. Come along!"
She wrenched herself away from him.
"I want to go home!" she wailed. "I hate you and the North, and
everything in it. If you've got a spark of manhood left in you, you'll
take me out of here."
Roaring Bill backed away from her. "Do you mean that? Honest Injun?"
he asked incredulously.
"I do--I do!" she cried vehemently. "Haven't I told you often enough?
I didn't come here willingly, and I won't stay. I will not! I have a
right to live my life in my own way, and it's not this way."
"So," Roaring Bill began evenly, "springtime with you only means
getting back to work. You want to get back into the muddled rush of
peopled places, do you? For what? To teach a class in school, or to
be some business shark's slave of the typewriter at ten dollars a week?
You want to be where you can associate with fluffy-ruffle, pompadoured
girls, and be properly introduced to equally proper young men.
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