twelve o'clock at night
She looks more dressed in a shirt-waist , in which she came down to dinner , her trunk not having come , than some of us do in the best we have . Her clothes are very fresh and recent , to a woman of Idaho ; but she does not wear her pretty ears `` cachées , '' I am glad to say . They are very pretty , and one -- the left one -- is burned pure crimson from sitting next the window of her section all the way from Omaha . But why do I write all this nonsense at twelve o'clock at night , when all I need say by way of description is that we want her to stay with us , indefinitely if necessary , and let her countrymen and lovers go to -- their ranch on the Snake River ! * * * * * What do you suppose those wretches were arguing about in the dining-room last night , over their whisky and soda ? Sentiment was `` not in it , '' as they would say . They were talking up a scheme -- a scheme that Tom has had in mind ever since he first saw the Thousand Springs six years ago , when he had the Snake River placer-mining fever .