As Ophelia and Old Heck, and Carolyn June with Chuck circled the room Skinny leaned weakly against the graphophone.  He was tortured agonizingly by the strange action of Carolyn June.  He was her lover, her official, absolute lover!  Why did she want to go and get things all mixed up like this?  It wasn’t fair.  The other boys were not supposed to make love to her!  They had elected him to do it and he was getting along all right till she thought of having this blamed fool dance.  He began to doubt the efficacy of the white shirt and frequently drew one of the loose, baggy sleeves—­rapidly losing their snowy spotlessness—­across his face to rid himself of beads of perspiration.

The waltz was followed by another one-step and Ophelia granted this favor to Parker while Old Heck sat and swore steadily under his breath—­regretful that he had not sent the foreman and the cowboys out on the beef hunt a week ago!

Outside, the Ramblin’ Kid half-reclined on the edge of the porch.  With a cigarette between his teeth, a sneering smile on his lips, he watched, through the open door, the group within.  He was convinced now that Carolyn June was utterly frivolous.  She danced and flirted with Bert, Chuck, Charley—­and even Pedro—­one after the other and occasionally Parker.  Poor Skinny alone was neglected.  She seemed to have forgotten that he existed save when, from time to time, she suggested that he put this or that record on the graphophone.  To each of the cowboys she whispered tender little sentiments, gave soulful looks and insinuating smiles—­all but caressed them openly.  Ophelia did like things to Old Heck, Parker and Charley.

In very truth it was a “slaughter.”

It was hot After an hour Carolyn June stepped out on the porch for a breath of air while Skinny Bought in the cabinet for a record she had asked him to play.  The Ramblin’ Kid straightened up as she came out of the door.  He was disgusted, angry, heart-sickened.  He had seen enough and was starting to leave.

Carolyn June had noticed the absence of the Ramblin’ Kid.  She had believed, all evening, he was on the porch and that was the real reason she had come outside.  She saw him.  “Oh, is.—­is—­that you, Ramblin’ Kid?” she exclaimed as if surprised, and went quickly to where, at the sound of her voice, he had paused.

He did not answer.  The light shone full on his face and he knew that she knew—­and had known before she spoke—­that he was there.  His eyes were filled with a look queerly blending scorn, loathing, pity and pain.

“Why—­why—­don’t you come in and dance?” she asked lightly, not certain of his mood.

“I don’t want to,” he replied coldly:  “anyhow—­” he added with a sneer and a brutal laugh as he slowly moved away in the darkness, “when I decide to hug I’ll hug in private!”