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The handy man went straight across to the paper in opposition. The news-man went back to the front room and stood thinking. He didn't curse Bat nor emit fumes of the sulphurous place to which he had invited Brydges. He was contemplating what he called his "kids"; and he was figuring the next payment due on the Smelter City lots in which he had been speculating.
Bat smiled slowly and sleepily; then openly grinned as who should say "now the cat is out"; but when he turned to Moyese, his chief had whirled in the swing chair and was sitting with hands clasped under his hat, and the back of his head towards Brydges.
The attorney for the Smelter City Coking Company sat up and whispered something to Brydges. The handy man turned lazily round. "Yes," he said, "one of our staff." The news editor cleared his throat, and a little sharp intersection of lines bridged above his nose. "For some little time, it has been known in the Valley that a quiet contest has been going on."
Her mother's friends wore soft felt hats and limp woollen collars; these real men were richly clad in tweed suits and fine linen. Dolly was charmed with them all, but especially with one handsome and manly young fellow named Walter Brydges, the stepson and ward of a neighboring parson. "How you talked with him at tennis to-day!"
When Brydges' chief indulged in explosives that necessitated the repair of furniture the next day, the handy man always stood strictly and silently at attention. He knew the meaning of the stage thunder: it was the trick of the Indian medicine man, who fires guns to bring down rain.
"Brydges is not yet back from Quebec, and Hopkins and I start to-morrow for the Saguenay and St. John's Lake, where affairs require to be looked after. "I have a letter to-day from St. Paul, in which Kittson says that the railroad gentry were anxiously expecting you, and making much capital out of the expected visit.
The high falsetto announced the Missionary's boy of twelve, who promptly turned a hand spring over the slab bench, never pausing in a running fire of exuberant comment. "Get on y'r bib and tucker, Dickie! You're goin' t' have a s'prise party right away! Senator Moses and Battle Brydges, handy-andy-dandy, comin' up with Dad and MacDonald! Oh, hullo, Miss Eleanor, how d' y' get here ahead?
"I believe, ma'am," replied the girl, "Mr. Lascelles, Lady Hilliars, and the Marquis of Elesmere." "I dislike them all three!" cried Mary, with an impatience to which she was little liable; "dress me how you like: I am indifferent to my appearance." Marshall obeyed the commands of her lady, who, hoping to divert her thoughts, took up the poems of Egerton Brydges.
"Don't know whether you know it or not," he went on, "but about a month ago one of those d I beg your pardon, Miss MacDonald, Down-East scribblerettes, that come out to see the West from a Pullman car window and put things right, passed through here. Somebody got him and filled him up pretty full with a lot of lies about Wayland " "You mean Brydges gave him the facts?" asked Eleanor.
Moyese knew looks that drilled; and Brydges himself could bore behind for motives; but this look was not a drill: it was a Search Light; and the handy man well, perhaps, it was the heat the handy man suddenly wilted. "You can go, Brydges," ordered Moyese. "All right! See you again about that, Senator!" Brydges grabbed up the loose notes from the desk and bolted, banging the door behind him.
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