Argosy, Vol. 112, No. 2 — page 67: what you’re looking at

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

PETE’S POLITE—PERHAPS. “Tm going to the construction camp,” he said. “Q-oh,” said Ruth, as she recalled the disclosures which the man in the tent had made. ‘“ My father is foreman there. Surely you’re not the terrible fighter that has been working at the other camps.” The stranger laughed. “T shouldn’t think anybody would want to be Dick Granger,” he said. ‘“ That ruffian!” “Tm glad,” the girl said. “ Father thought he could get him—this Granger— over here, and they would determine who was the best man. I didn’t think you were a fighter.” “My name is Royce,” the man said— “James Royce. No, I’m not much of a fighter. I don’t like to fight.” They drew up at the camp as the sun was setting, a blood-red ball in the cloud- filmed west. Pete was in front of the mess-tent, and he walked toward the flivver as soon as he saw that it held a passenger in addition to his daughter. Royce opened the door, stepped down, and extended a hand to Ruth. Blushing, she took the hand and alighted. Pete noted the blush, and a questioning look came into his eyes. Royce turned about and faced him. “The foreman of No. 3 camp sent me here to work for you,” he said simply. ‘“T was hopin’ he would change his mind and send me his walloper,” Pete said in dis- gust. “Dick Granger?” Royce said. wouldn’t want to part with him.” Ruth had stepped apart from them and she was now listening to what Royce said and watching him. Half a dozen workmen had gathered about Pete and Royce. ‘Granger, eh?” said Pete. ‘Is he a fighter ?”’ “ The best I ever saw,”’ Royce said. ‘A pity he didn’t send him here, then,” Pete declared. “ Why?” Royce asked. “Td have taken him over the jumps,” Pete returned, with a harsh laugh. The harshness of his laugh was not alto- gether.due to the fact that he was thinking ee He 233 of possible combat with the champion of the other camps; he was bothered by the blush he had seen on his daughter’s smooth cheeks. He turned to her. She fled to her own tent. Pete followed her, pushed aside the flap, and entered. ‘““Where’d you pick up this guy?” he asked. “On the road, a mile from here,” Ruth answered. Pete was direct in all his ways. “ Why’d you blush when he helped you out of the machine?”’ Ruth looked at him with eyes a trifle too cool. There was a suggestion of ice in her voice when she answered: ‘‘ Because he was polite. I don’t see any politeness going to waste around this camp. I’ve never seen it in any of your camps. Am I your waitress or am I a human wo- man? Do you think I never get tired of these roughs you have working for you?” This was a new experience for Pete. Like all men of his kind, he had difficulty in dealing with new experiences. “It ain’t possible that you’re stuck on this fellow already, is it?” he asked. “You couldn’t naturally pick up with him serious in a ride of a few minutes, could you?” It was possible. Ruth was given to analysis of men, and guarded herself against their attacks in any form. But Royce had been different from other men. There had been a subtle and delicious ap- peal in his deference to her. ‘““T like him,” she said. ‘* Uhuh,” said Pete, and he backed out. of the tent. He scented danger to his daughter, and if he had been a weaker man he would have banished Royce at once. As it was, he sought out Royce. “'What’s your line?” he asked. ‘“T’m just a fetch-and-carry man,” Royce answered. ‘You'll find plenty fetch-and-carry ’bout here,” Pete said. ‘‘ You don’t look like you was very hefty. If you can’t do the work, you better say so. I got no place for loaf- ers.” “Pll do the work,” Royce said quietly, Gomichoo Hive Hed M1)