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The Mounted Police, or as they are more poetically called, the Riders of the Plains, watched Galbraith's Place, not from any apprehension of violent events, but because Galbraith was suspected of infringing the prevailing law of Prohibition, and because for some years it had been a tradition and a custom to keep an eye on Pierre.
She persuaded the girls to wait until all six were dressed in the afternoon frocks and until she herself had had a chance to give each of them a final inspection and to make a few last touches and readjustments. Then they all trooped out on the stage and stood in a row, turned about, walked here and there, in obedience to Galbraith's instructions shouted from the back of the theater.
He gasped out an incoherent word or two, hoping to check Mr. Galbraith's speech, but no intelligible phrases came to his tongue. "Life is a strangely perverse game, isn't it?" mused the capitalist.
Stay here is it, me boy? then lave go me fut with your teeth and push on to the Prairie Star there." So saying, Sergeant Tom, whose language in soliloquy, or when excited, was more marked by a brogue than at other times, rode away towards Galbraith's Place.
It didn't need a sensitive ear to detect a note of mockery in this speech, though Galbraith's face was perfectly solemn. But the face of the author went a delicate pink all over, and his round eyes stared. "My God!" he said. The exclamation was explosive enough to catch the ear of an extremely pretty young woman who stood near by with her hands in her pockets.
Galbraith's and " he paused the fraction of a second, "and of mine. He has come over to spend the morning and wants to see what we're doing." The little old inventor reached out a horny palm. "I'm glad to see you, sir," affirmed he simply. "Any friend of Bob's won't want for a welcome here. Set right down an' make yourself to home, or stand up an' poke found, if it suits you better.
Suppose we take two runabouts and go for a short spin." All agreed, and the quartette went to the garage for the cars. The head chauffeur, who was not of an over kindly disposition, informed them that Miss Galbraith's runabout was out of commission for the moment, though Miss Fairfield's was in good shape.
"If we was to keep it here a week there ain't nothin' more we could do to it, an' since you've tried it out over at Galbraith's we know it works." "Oh, it works all right!" laughed Bob. The eyes of the little inventor softened and into them crept a glint of pensiveness. "Yes," he repeated, "we can deliver it up to Zenas Henry 'most anytime now." He paused.
We are both visitors at Miss Galbraith's. Her cook left suddenly, and we want you to come and cook for us, two days if you will, but one day ANYWAY! See? Do you understand that? You're to go over to Miss Galbraith's now, with us, and cook dinner tonight. After dinner, you may do as you like about staying longer. We'll pay you well, and there's no reason whatever why you shouldn't oblige us."
She kills it herself by the way she does her hair." Buzzing around in the back of John Galbraith's mind was an unworded protest against the way Rose had just killed her own beauty with a thick white veil so nearly opaque that all it let him see of her face was an intermittent gleam of her eyes.
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