She was on the verge of making a bad matter worse, by saying that they didn’t know the lady was a lady! But Ruth broke in with:
“Oh, I beg your pardon, I am sure. We did not mean to offend you. Won’t you forgive us, if you think we were rude? I am sure we did not intend to be.”
It would have been hard for most people to resist Ruth’s mildness and her pleading smile. This person with the spectacles and the short hair was not moved by the girl of the Red Mill at all. Later Ruth and Helen understood why not.
“I don’t want any more of your impudence!” the stern woman said. “Go away and leave me alone. I’d like to have the training of all such girls as you. I’d teach you what’s what!”
“And I believe she would,” gasped Helen, as she and Ruth almost ran back up to the saloon deck again. “Goodness! she is worse than Miss Brokaw ever thought of being—and we thought her pretty sharp at times.”
“I wonder what and who the woman is,” Ruth murmured. “I am glad she is nobody whom I have to know.”
“Hope we have seen the last of the hateful old thing!”
But they had not. As the girls walked forward through the saloon and approached the spot where they had sat watching the mysterious woman with the short hair and the shorter temper, a youth got up from one of the seats and strolled out upon the deck ahead of them. Ruth started, and turned to look at Helen.
“My dear!” she said. “Did you see that?”
“Don’t point out any other mysteries to me—please!” cried Helen. “We’ll get into a worse pickle.”