Dill got out of bed, eying him shrewdly. “Have you been gambling, William?”
Billy ran the green shade up from the window so energetically that it slipped from his fingers and buzzed noisily at file top. He craned his neck, trying to see the hotel. “Maybe yuh’d call it that—an old bachelor like you! Yuh see, Dilly, I’ve got business over in Tower. I’ve got to be there before noon, and I need—aw, thunder! How’s a man going to get married when he’s only got six dollars in his jeans?”
“I should say that would be scarcely feasible, William.” Dill was smiling down at the lacing of his shoes. “We can soon remedy that, however. I’m—I’m very glad, William.”
The cheeks of Charming Billy Boyle grew quite red. “And, by the way, Dilly,” he said hurriedly, as if he shied at the subject of his love and his marriage, “I’ve changed my mind about going to New Mexico. I—we’ll settle down on the Bridger place, if yuh still want me to. She says she’d rather stay here in this country.”
Dill settled himself into his clothes, went over, and laid a hand awkwardly upon Billy’s arm, “I am very glad, William,” he said simply.