While he wrote the receipt she studied him. So this was the man whom Richard Gregory had desig
nated as a red-blooded American. The father's praise of his absent son, she was forced to admit, had slightly prejudiced her against the young man. No single individual could possess all the sterling traits of character attributed to him by the late cannery owner. That was impossible. He would fall down somewhere.
Gregory handed the girl her receipt.
"And now," he began, somewhat uncertain as to just how to proceed, "what do you intend to do about the boats?"
Dickie Lang paused in the act of folding the paper and looked up quickly. For some reason she felt herself irritated by the question. Her irritation crept into her voice as she answered:
"I'm going to run them, of course."
Gregory straightened in his chair and faced about.
"You're going to run them?" he repeated. "You don't mean yourself?"
"Sure. What else would I do with them?" she asked coldly.
The man was caught for the moment unawares by the suddenness of the question.