During the short conversation that time allowed the two men before the arrival of Hunt Mangan, nothing was asked and nothing volunteered in regard to The Falcon’s place in the Mangan-Hatton camp. Squawtooth at once realized his guest’s refinement and education. Naturally supposing him to be of importance to the work, else Manzanita would not have invited him to be a guest with Mangan, he was getting on famously when Mangan came.
Manzanita met the contractor at the door and brought him in. Mangan’s eyes widened as he saw Falcon the Flunky, and for a moment he looked bewilderedly at the girl. Then his native refinement asserted itself, and he shook hands cordially, if a little awkwardly, with Canby and his fellow guest.
At once Manzanita went to help Mrs. Ehrhart with the dinner, leaving the three men together. The Falcon sat listening to the conversation of Canby and Mangan, not offering a word but perfectly at ease. Presently he stepped to the piano, glanced over the music on the rack, and seated himself on the stool.
“Don’t mind if I loosen up a little, do you?” he asked, smiling around at them. “I see a piano so seldom these days that I can’t keep away from one when I do.”
“Sure! Sure!” genially encouraged Squawtooth. “Give us a tune.”
Thereupon Falcon the Flunky played several semi-classical pieces with a touch and feeling that surprised Mangan, who appreciated good music. As he talked with his host he watched the man at the piano. Where had he come from? Who was he? Was he playing the instrument merely to prove that he was socially above the general run of construction laborers?
The Falcon swiveled presently on the stool and sat listening again to the conversation.
“You’re pretty good at that, Mr. Falcon,” volunteered Canby, to whom almost any noise on an instrument meant music.
The Falcon smiled. “Pretty rusty, I imagine. I haven’t touched a piano in three months.”
“We was talkin’ about the new railroad bridge over the Little Albert,” Squawtooth observed. “Mr. Mangan says she’ll hold, but I tell him he don’t realize what a torrent that river c’n be when the snows thaw up in the mountains. What d’you think about ’er, Mr. Falcon?”