It was only a random shot, as she did not know Billings or any other town save by hearsay, but it made a bull’s-eye. Susie knew it by the startled look which she surprised from him, and Smith could have throttled her as she snickered.
“Mister McArthur and Mister Tubbs, I’ll make you acquainted with Miss Marshall.”
With elaborate formality of tone and manner, Susie pointed at each individual with her fork while mentioning them by name.
“Miss Marshall,” McArthur murmured, again half rising.
“Much obliged to meet you,” said Tubbs heartily as, bowing in imitation of his employer, he caught the edge of his plate on the band of his trousers and upset it.
Everybody stopped eating during this important ceremony, and now all looked at Smith to see what form his acknowledgment of the coveted introduction to the Schoolmarm would take.
Smith in turn looked expectantly at Susie, who met his eyes with a mocking grin.
“Anything I can reach for you, Mister Smith?” she inquired. “Looks like you’re waitin’ for something.”
Smith’s face and the red table-cloth were much the same shade as he looked annihilation at the little half-breed imp.
Each time that Dora Marshall raised her eyes, they met those of Smith. There was nothing of impertinence in his stare; it was more of awe—a kind of fascinated wonder—and she found herself speculating as to who and what he was. He was not a regular “grub-liner,” she was sure of that, for he was as different in his way as McArthur. He had a personality, not exactly pleasant, but unique. Though he was not uncommonly tall, his shoulders were thick and broad, giving the impression of great strength. His jaw was square, but it evidenced brutality rather than determination. His nose, in contrast to the intelligence denoted by his high, broad forehead, was mediocre, inconsequential, the kind of a nose seldom seen on the person who achieves. The two features were those of the man who conceives big things, yet lacks the force to execute them.