“Ya-as, ma’am! that’s my name, ma’am,” said the embarrassed deputy.
“We heard what you just said,” pursued Nettie. “About Curly Smith, you know.”
“I—I——”
“And we’re awfully interested in Curly,” put in Helen, joining in the attempt to cajole a perfectly helpless officer of the law from the path of duty.
“Your servant, ma’am!” gasped the deputy, very red in the face now, and bowing low before Helen.
“There are three of us, Mr. Ricketts,” suggested Ruth, her own eyes dancing with fun, despite the really serious distress she felt over Curly’s case.
“Bless my soul!” murmured Mr. Ricketts, bowing in her direction, too. “So there are—so there are. Your servant, ma’am.”
“Then, Mr. Ricketts, if you are the servant of all of us, I know you will do what we ask,” and Nettie laughed merrily.
Little drops of perspiration were exuding upon the deputy’s broad, bald brow. He was not used to the society of ladies—not even extremely young ladies; and he felt both ridiculous and in a glow of delight. He chuckled and wabbled his head above his stiff collar, and looked foolish. But there was a grim firmness to his smoothly shaven chin that led Ruth to believe that he would not be an easy person to swerve from his path.
“You know,” repeated Nettie, taking her cue from Helen, “that we are awfully interested in that boy that you say you have come after.”