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Side by side they walked toward the lonesome little tent with the big sign on a pole in front of it a mere atom of white in the vast desert. Orr Tweet sat at an oaken desk in one corner of the tent. In another corner was his bunk, a new suit case, and a new trunk, both in keeping with Tweet's expensive outdoor clothes. There were several chairs.
But he liked him instinctively, which, after all, is more human and satisfactory than liking a person after analyzing him and weighing his good qualities against his shortcomings. So it was the thought of Tweet's friendship which finally prompted him to say: "I guess I'll go with you." "Good!" Tweet dropped his paper. "This afternoon?" "No to-morrow." "Not on your life! This afternoon."
He got up, folding the paper, and carried it over to Hiram, pointing to an article headed: "New Ditch Digger Makes Good." Hiram stared at the heading in dire confusion. He had been half prepared for a rating; Tweet's complete disregard of his remissness was distressing. "Mr. Tweet, I've got to apologize," he began. "Bad practice," Tweet interrupted.
He dwelt at length to the strangers on Jerkline Jo's great success in her freighting enterprise, not neglecting to mention that she was investing a great portion of her profits in Paloma Rancho. The men were impressed. Jo, too, was impressed with Tweet's abilities as a salesman. He emanated confidence, and his enthusiasm seemed well-founded and sincere.
Jerkline Jo blushed furiously. She who had withstood the ordeal of a hundred proposals, she who had been raised where men were continually twitting her about some man who was yearning to bestow his affections upon her, was blushing at Tweet's harmless suggestions.
Tweet's card, which promulgated his operations as a salesman of banana lands, and of the stock he claimed to own in the new ditch digger. "I thought perhaps he was some sort of a book agent," said the girl, laughing. "I don't know much about people," Hiram confessed with naïve simplicity. "I can't judge folks very well some folks, anyway." "I'm afraid he's a wind bag," decided Jo.
Tweet turned and looked at Hiram's red face in mild surprise. "Wh-what's wrong with you?" he queried. "Nothin'" sheepishly. "Well, I'll be dog-goned if I don't believe you're gun shy on the female question!" was Tweet's conviction. "These frisky Frisco pullets goin' to your head, Hooker. A little paint and a little powder and a frowsy topknot seems to sorta touched some new funny bone in you, eh?
I don't know as I want to be back under Tweet's thumb, but I guess the Scripture was about right where it says it ain't good for a man to be alone. When d'you leave Pymantoning, Nelie?" "It makes no difference when I left." Cornelia got to her feet, trembling. "And I'll thank you not to call me by my first name, Mr. Dickerson. I don't know why you should do it, and I don't like it."
The sensible thing to do was for Hiram to sacrifice love to the friendship that promised him a start, in order to gain love back more conclusively in the end. Yes, he loved her he loved her madly! Boiling the present situation right down to facts, he had little confidence in Tweet's boasted powers. He could not reconcile Tweet's present impecunious condition with his hints of past affluence.
"Yes, I did. When you told " Hiram bit his tongue. "The truth is, she's from Mendocino County, too, and we we that is, we found it out." Not the faintest sign of suspicion or surprise showed in Tweet's face. "Well, suit yourself," he said nonchalantly. "It's a little late, or I'd go this afternoon. But to-morrow I go. My friend'll dig up the price, but I hate to hit him up any more.
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