“Sure thing, Miss Ileen,” he said; “the good-lookers don’t always win out.  Now, you ain’t bad looking, of course—­but that’s nix-cum-rous.  I knew a girl once in Dubuque with a face like a cocoanut, who could skin the cat twice on a horizontal bar without changing hands.  Now, a girl might have the California peach crop mashed to a marmalade and not be able to do that.  I’ve seen—­er—­worse lookers than you, Miss Ileen; but what I like about you is the business way you’ve got of doing things.  Cool and wise—­that’s the winning way for a girl.  Mr. Hinkle told me the other day you’d never taken in a lead silver dollar or a plugged one since you’ve been on the job.  Now, that’s the stuff for a girl—­that’s what catches me.”

Jacks got his smile, too.

“Thank you, Mr. Jacks,” said Ileen.  “If you only knew how I appreciate any one’s being candid and not a flatterer!  I get so tired of people telling me I’m pretty.  I think it is the loveliest thing to have friends who tell you the truth.”

Then I thought I saw an expectant look on Ileen’s face as she glanced toward me.  I had a wild, sudden impulse to dare fate, and tell her of all the beautiful handiwork of the Great Artificer she was the most exquisite—­that she was a flawless pearl gleaming pure and serene in a setting of black mud and emerald prairies—­that she was—­a—­a corker; and as for mine, I cared not if she were as cruel as a serpent’s tooth to her fond parents, or if she couldn’t tell a plugged dollar from a bridle buckle, if I might sing, chant, praise, glorify, and worship her peerless and wonderful beauty.

But I refrained.  I feared the fate of a flatterer.  I had witnessed her delight at the crafty and discreet words of Bud and Jacks.  No!  Miss Hinkle was not one to be beguiled by the plated-silver tongue of a flatterer.  So I joined the ranks of the candid and honest.  At once I became mendacious and didactic.

“In all ages, Miss Hinkle,” said I, “in spite of the poetry and romance of each, intellect in woman has been admired more than beauty.  Even in Cleopatra, herself, men found more charm in her queenly mind than in her looks.”

“Well, I should think so!” said Ileen.  “I’ve seen pictures of her that weren’t so much.  She had an awfully long nose.”

“If I may say so,” I went on, “you remind me of Cleopatra, Miss Ileen.”

“Why, my nose isn’t so long!” said she, opening her eyes wide and touching that comely feature with a dimpled forefinger.

“Why—­er—­I mean,” said I—­“I mean as to mental endowments.”

“Oh!” said she; and then I got my smile just as Bud and Jacks had got theirs.

“Thank every one of you,” she said, very, very sweetly, “for being so frank and honest with me.  That’s the way I want you to be always.  Just tell me plainly and truthfully what you think, and we’ll all be the best friends in the world.  And now, because you’ve been so good to me, and understand so well how I dislike people who do nothing but pay me exaggerated compliments, I’ll sing and play a little for you.”