“What has become of Mr. Green?” Miss Hallman demanded after she had thanked Irish with a smile for the qualified encouragement.
“We don't know,” Weary answered mildly. “We were trying to locate him ourselves.”
“Oh, were you? He seems a rather uncertain young man. I rather counted on his assistance; he promised—”
“Mr. Irish has thought of a rig he can use, Miss Hallman,” said the Allen girl suddenly. “He's going to drive us out himself. Let's hurry and get ready, so we can start ahead of the others. How many minutes will it take you, Mr. Irish, to have that team here, for us?”
Irish turned red. He HAD thought of a rig, and he had thought of driving them himself, but he could not imagine how Miss Allen could possibly; have known his thoughts. Then and there he knew who would occupy the other half of the front seat, in case he did really drive the team he had in mind.
“I told you she's a hustler,” laughed Miss Hallman. “She'll be raising bigger crops than you men—give her a year to get started. Well, girls, come on, then.”
They turned abruptly away, and Irish was left to his accounting with the Happy Family. He had not denied the thoughts and intentions imputed to him by the twinkling-eyed Miss Allen. They walked on toward the livery stable—where was manifested an unwonted activity—waiting for Irish to clear himself; which he did not do.
“You going to drive them women out there?” Pink demanded after an impatient silence.
“Why not? Somebody'll have to.”
“What team are you going to use!” asked Jack Bates.