Argosy, Vol. 112, No. 2 — page 66: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

252 greatest security lay in her father’s domi- nance of the men. Perhaps love was a little beyond Pete, but devotion and admiration were not. He was very proud of his daughter. He was proud of her looks and of her accomplish- ments. She was indeed a handsome girl. The scenes amid which she moved were a fitting setting for her kind of beauty. There were only half a dozen men in all that crew who were taller than she. Her features were cast in noble mold, and her gray, calm eyes were large between long, dark lashes. Her hair was jet and abun- dant.. Full-bosomed, broad-hipped, she had a fine stateliness. A child clinging to her hand would have completed an inspiring and impressive pic- ture; she was the sort of woman whom nature magnificently dowers for mother- hood. Though Pete was rough and uncouth, he had never been parsimonious with his daughter. He had sent her through school before her mother’s death, and she had been graduated with honors, though she had had to flit from one institution to another be- cause of Pete’s migrations. Pete gave her money liberally for clothes, and she had good taste in that direction. As soon as this Sunday dinner was over she would don finery and leave the camp to visit a neigh- boring town. As in all other towns she had visited, people would turn on the street to look at her. As she turned back into the tent to see if the inevitable second helping was required by any of the men she heard one of them say: “It ’d be a joke if this fella was real good and should lam Pete, now, wouldn’t it?” She walked up behind appreciated her father. “Who’s going to lam asked. ‘““ Nobody, ma’am,” the man answered. “What did you mean, then?” The man was confused. Then he remem- bered that Ruth Blandin was no tattle- tale. So he told her what Pete’s intentions were. the man. She my dad?’ she THE ARGOSY. - Ruth wasn’t interested. Her father could take care of himself. She didn’t know the stranger, and therefore she was not con- cerned about what might happen to him. The dinner over, she donned her finery and went away in her father’s flivver. Pete called up the neighboring camp, and asserted that he was short of help, and would the foreman lend him a man? The foreman would. Would he, then, lend Pete this fellow they was all talking about as bein’ the best worker and the best scrap- per on the “ lane ’’? There was a pause. On the telephone you never can tell what a pause means. You can’t study the face of the person you're talking to. There is no chance to guess what his thoughts are.. You just have to wait and make the best of it. In a moment the other foreman said: “1 was thinkin’, Pete. Id like to oblige you, but I can’t do it. This fellow is my best worker. He can do two men’s work ina pinch. I ain’t got none too many men myself. I got lots of promises. They in- tend to come when they promise, I guess, but most times they don’t. Hell may be paved with good intentions, but country roads ain’t. However, I'll send you a man.” Il. THE car line was a mile south of the camp. Coming back from town, Ruth overtook a workman carrying a suit-case. She invited him into the flivver; he ac- cepted. ‘““T am very grateful,” he said. Ruth had lived in camps all her life, but she was a woman for a’ that. Few men had been “ grateful ” to her; none had been “very grateful.” She glanced at her passenger. He was tall—an inch taller than herself, perhaps— but he lacked the huge bulk of her father and some of the other men. Why, he was almost slim. He was smooth-shaven, and he had brown, curly hair and brown eyes. “[sn’t he nice-looking?” said Ruth to herself. She came to the road down which she must turn to reach the camp. She asked the stranger if he intended to keep on. oefe) CefoypaliKe