"No, of course not. He was to be here—or somebody was—and drive me out. I suppose I'll have to go somewhere and wait his pleasure. Where is he, do you know?"
"Why—" Angus began doubtfully, and stopped.
"Look here," said Kathleen French, "has Blake been drinking?"
"I think he could drive all right."
"Pig! Brute!" Blake's sister ejaculated viciously. "He couldn't keep sober, even to meet me. Didn't think I mattered, I suppose. I'll show him. Able to drive, is he? Well, he isn't able to drive me. I'll get a livery rig."
"I will drive you out."
"That's good of you. But it's out of your way."
"It will do the colts good—take the edge off them. But I don't know what to do about Jean. She was to have come on this boat."
"She must have missed it. Likely she will be on the next."
This seemed probable. As there was nothing to be done about it, Angus went for Kathleen's trunk. He wheeled it on a truck to the rig, picked it up and deposited it in the wagon back of the seat without apparent effort. As the trunk went up Kathleen French's eyes widened a little. He turned to her.