CHAPTER XXVIII
THE DREGS
When the Benham private car came to a stop on the switch, Rosalind swung up the steps and upon the platform just as J. C., ruddy, smiling and bland, opened the door. She was in his arms in an instant, murmuring her joy. He stroked her hair, then held her off for a good look at her, and inquired, unctuously:
“What are you doing in town so early, my dear?”
“Oh!” She hid her face on his shoulder, reluctant to tell him. But she knew he must be told, and so she steeled herself, stepping back and looking at him, her heart pounding madly.
“Father; these people have discovered that Corrigan has been trying to cheat them!”
She would have gone on, but the sickly, ghastly pallor of his face frightened her. She swayed and leaned against the railing of the platform, a sinking, deadly apprehension gnawing at her, for it seemed from the expression of J. C.’s face that he had some knowledge of Corrigan’s intentions. But J. C. had been through too many crises to surrender at the first shot in this one. Still he got a good grip on himself before he attempted to answer, and then his voice was low and intoned with casual surprise:
“Trying to cheat them? How, my dear?”
“By trying to take their land from them. You had no knowledge of it, Father?”
“Who has been saying that?” he demanded, with a fairly good pretense of righteous anger.