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The faint, careless surprise upon his face changed suddenly into downright bewilderment as he saw the dust-covered bodies, the cut lips, blood-streaked cheeks, and swelling eyes of the two men. The song which he had been humming died away into a little gasp, and with sagging lower jaw he stood and stared. "Well," snapped Brayley, pushing back his hat and returning the cook's stare fiercely.
"Are you going on the first?" he asked. "What to?" "Miss Schley's first night." "Is it on the first? I didn't know. We can't. We're dining at Brayley House that evening." "What a pity!" he said, with a light touch of half playful malice. "You would have seen her as she really is from all accounts." "And what is Miss Schley really?" "The secret enemy of censors." "Oh!" "You dislike her. Why?"
"My ears are good, and your voice is not bad by any means. Only I'd really like to know why you want me to get up. Is it custom here for a new man to remain standing until the foreman is seated? If I am violating any customs " Again Brayley took one lurching step forward. Conniston pushed his chair back so that his feet were clear of the table leg.
Brayley, his deep chest jerking visibly as his breath wheezed through his swelling lips, waited for him, the anger gone once more from his eyes, which followed Conniston's movements curiously. For a moment they stood motionless save for the heaving of muscles with their quick breathing, eying each other, measuring each other.
"My father," she answered, simply, "like every other man who does big things on a big scale, is always looking for good men, for foremen, for men like Bat Truxton, like Brayley, and for men who must do work for which such men as Brayley are unfit men who have got an education and have retained their strength of manhood through it.
Perhaps her face spoke for her, even to so dull an observer as Lord Holme, for he suddenly said, with a complete change of tone: "I forgave you about Carey." "Oh, I see! You want a quid pro quo. Thank you, Fritz." "Don't forget to tip Lady Brayley a note of thanks," he said rather loudly, getting up from his chair. "Oh, thanks!
He did not know if Hapgood were still on the Half Moon or if he had gone. He did not greatly care. Brayley was back from the Lone Dog. He saw him at night when he came into the bunk-house. He and Brayley looked at each other, saying no word. Brayley turned with a casual remark to one of the men; Conniston took his place at the table.
Conniston recognized one of the men as the half-breed, Joe, whom he had seen meet Miss Crawford in Indian Creek. Another was Lonesome Pete. Conniston was more gratified than he knew when the red-headed reader of "Macbeth" nodded to him and said a quiet "Howdy." The last man to come in was Brayley.
"You must think I'm a fool," he blurted out, after a second. "I talk like one. You have a right to feel offended to liken Brayley to you " "Since I believe you mean what you say since I think I understand what you mean I am not offended! I am proud! Yes, proud if I can be like Brayley in some things, some things which count!
Then, scarcely knowing why he did it, he turned upon his heel and went to hang out his wet socks. Still making no reply to Brayley, he got his hat and strode off to the stable. Ten minutes later he rode through the circle of trees and to the front of the house, leading Miss Argyl's pony.
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