"No! Leave Wayland t' tell her himself t'morrow! A make no doubt that buckboard won't hold five people! Is it six o'clock we set out? A'm longin' for m' own wee uns!"
"One thing," declared Williams, throwing himself on a chair, "if
Wayland runs, I'm going to stump it for him! We've got to get busy,
Matthews! The old order changeth! We've got to keep up with the
procession!"
If you had not known her utter conservatism as to all things pertaining to women, you could not appreciate the response of the missionary's wife. (She was an ultra-anti-suffragette.)
"I am sure, my dear," she cried, "I know a couple of hundred people on our summer circuit in the Upper Pass that I could make vote right."
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE UNITED STATES OF THE WORLD
"Wayland, for a man who's had his head cut off, you look uncommon joyous, tho' you're a bit white about the chops."
"Had a shave," answered Wayland dryly.
The yellow buckboard was rattling over the pressed brick pavement of Smelter City towards the suburbs. Williams was in the front seat with Matthews, who was driving. Eleanor and Mrs. Williams were in the second seat, with Wayland standing behind as he had stood that night going up to the Rim Rocks. Behind trotted two range ponies with empty saddles.
"I thought, perhaps, you'd prefer driving out beyond the suburbs," he had explained. "There's a good trail up to the hog's back opposite the Brulé."