“So do I—now,” said Joe. “I suppose I’ve been thinking of you as a little girl. Great Scott!” He shook his head, puzzled by his blindness. Jack’s eyes twinkled and her dimples became pronounced. She was enjoying his discovery greatly. Presently she said:
“When do you go up to Wind River?”
“As soon as I can—in a day or two, anyway.” A slight frown drew lines between his eyes. “I ought to be up there now. Not that I can tell MacNutt anything about his job, of course. But there’s that outfit of McCane’s! No telling what they will be up to next. And then I ought to go round to the other camps and see how there’re making it. We want a main drive of twenty-five or thirty million this year. Got to have it. Yes, I ought to be on the spot.”
He was talking to himself rather than to her, and the boyishness had vanished from his voice and manner. He was the man of affairs, the executive head, thinking, planning, immersed in his business.
Jack was quick to recognize the change.
“You need the logs, don’t you, Joe?”
“I’ll smash without ’em, sure. Twenty million feet delivered at Wismer & Holden’s booms by July 1st. Not a day later. Then I can lift the notes, square my overdraft, and meet the mortgage payments. If I don’t—well, my credit is strained pretty badly now.”
“You’ll pull through, Joe. I know you will.” Her hand fell on his shoulder. He looked up abstractedly and saw her standing beside him. Mechanically his hand reached up and closed on hers. At the contact he felt a little thrill, and something stirred within him. It was the first time he had touched her hand since childhood, save in greeting or farewell. And her touch was the first of understanding human sympathy he had had since called upon to hoe his own row. He vibrated to it responsively.
“You’re a good little sport, Jack,” he said gratefully and pressed her hand.
There was a discreet knock at the door.