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Sure, she continued lightly, we weemin 're niver contint wid the throubles of the day. We're that curious we must be wonderin' how much more's comin'. We may boast iv bein' sensible an' sthrong, but we're alwiz pushin' our tentacles out to feel the sorrow iv to-morrow. I reckoned you'd be hatin' me in a week, ma bouchal.
"'We've been pushin' on our windin' uphill way for mighty likely half a day, an' I'm beginnin' so dooms slows is our progress to despair of gettin' out on top the mesa before dark, when to put a coat of paint on the gen'ral trouble the lead waggon breaks down. I turns out in the snow with the rest, an' we-all puts in a heated an' highly profane half-hour restorin' the waggon to health.
"Thar's Logan en Finch, with Flinthead en Hickory," exclaimed Landy, as the horsemen approached the far gate. "She's a water-haul. Old Hulls has stood 'em off ag'in. Now about yer questions. If ya would put' em through the chute, one at a time, 'stead of pushin' 'em up in droves, I could answer better. On the money question, I git this from old Jim.
It was kind of quiet for a minute, but them that couldn't see him kep' pushin' for'ards and callin' out: 'What d'you see? What's down there? And them close by wanted to know, all talkin' to once, why he thought she was a slaver, and how long the niggers had been dead. Lord! what a fuss there was.
"Torchy," says she, "where's Robert? What was he doing when you left?" "Give it up," says I. "And, anyway, I ain't supposed to know." "I'll bet you do, though," says she. "Couldn't you guess?" "If I did," says I, "I'd guess that he'd just made a run of ten or twelve and was pushin' up the buttons on the string." "I don't know what that means," says she.
And hearing us mutter that it seemed cruel, he smiled for the third time. "Yes," he said slowly, "it's a bit 'ard on us, because we've done nothing to deserve it. But things are like that, so far as I can see. One thing comes pushin' out another, and so you go on. I've thought about it you get to thinkin' and worryin' about the rights o' things, sittin' up here all day.
"Boy," says he, pushin' through the gate, "is this the general office of the Corrugated Trust Company?" "Yep," says I. "That's what it says on the door." "There is employed here, I understand," he goes on, "a young man by the name of Mallory." Say, I was wide awake at that. "Mallory?" says I. "I can find out. Did you want to see him on business?" "It is a personal matter," says he. "Is he here?"
Robert, pokin' his head out. "Two to one that's Clifford!" says I. There wa'n't any time to get a bet down, though; for just then the door slams open and we gets a view of things. Oh, it was Cliffy, all right! He was comin' in backwards, tryin' to wave off the gang that was follerin' him. "Go away!" says he, pushin' at the nearest of 'em. "Please go away!"
It was not long, however, until the players left their game, to gather once more about the engine. Lem Wheeler approached Young Matt with a serious air; "Look a here," he said; "we all want t' see you try that lift." "I ain't got no time for foolin'," replied the young man; "Dad's just pushin' to get done before dark." "Shucks!" retorted the other; "Hit won't take a minute t' try.
I wonder if them lambrequins are real?" She says it loud enough to be heard around on Broadway, and I looks to see how the old boy takes it; but he keeps right on beamin' mild and sort of curious at the crowds pushin' in. It was them calm, gentle old blue eyes of his, gazin' steady, like he was lookin' for someone, that caught me.
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