“Now, after contracting, the main squeeze will sublet every mile that he can to smaller men. Then the parts that no one wants to tackle, perhaps because of the inadequacy of the outfits on the job, must be attended to by the main contractors themselves. Naturally to them are left the roughest, most difficult pieces of the work. They usually move in last, then, and not only do their own work but keep a weather eye on what the subs are doing.”
“And Demarest, Spruce & Tillou are to come here later on?”
“Very likely—unless they sublet all of it. And there will be dozens of other outfits, large and small, and ragtowns and——”
“What’s a ragtown?”
“Well, the less you know about a ragtown the better. They’re tent towns that move around with big construction work—composed of saloons, dance halls, gambling games, and such things designed to get the stiff’s money away from them.”
“Oh, I want to see a ragtown! I was in a saloon once. There was one up at the gold mine near our mountain ranch. I put my foot on the rail and bought drinks for the house. But I drank red pop. Beer’s bitter. And I can shoot craps, too. Listen: The kid and I were shooting craps back of a stable one day, and I threw seven or ’leven six times straight; and I’d just won his neckerchief and clasp and one of his spurs when old Pa Squawtooth came snooping around a haystack and nailed us. That is, he got the kid. I beat it! When will a ragtown come, do you think?”
“I think I’ll have a word with your father when one does come,” he told her.
“No, don’t! I won’t get hurt or do anything wicked. Pa’ll spoil everything. He wants me to sit around the house all day and play the piano and crochet. Then, besides, the kid will be sticking his peeled nose into things, and I’ll have to go along to take care of him. Now you aren’t going to lecture any more, are you? What’s a gypo camp—and a gypo queen?”
Falcon the Flunky had started to tell her when from the dining-room door behind him he heard a fervent “Good night!” in familiar tones. Turning, he saw the drooping mouth and flaring pitcher-handle ears of Halfaman Daisy, who apparently had been seeking him.
“Come here, Halfaman,” he ordered. “I want to introduce you to Miss Canby. She wants to know about gypo queens, and you’re an authority on that subject.”