Glum looks followed his announcement. They tried to dissuade him, for they did not know his thoughts, and perhaps would not have given him credit for them if they had.
“Don’t the outfit suit you?” asked one gently. “If it don’t, we’ll try to do better!”
“Your conduct has been amazin’ good—considerin’,” grinned Randerson, light-hearted for the time; for this mark of affection was not lost upon him.
“If there’s anybody in the outfit that’s disagreeable to you, why, say the word an’ we’ll make him look mighty scarce!” declared another, glancing belligerently around him.
“Shucks, this outfit’ll be a blamed funeral!” said Blair. “We’ll be gettin’ to think that we don’t grade up, nohow. First Vickers packs his little war-bag an’ goes hittin’ the breeze out; an’ now you’ve got some fool notion that you ought to pull your freight. If it’s anything botherin’ you, why, open your yap, an’ we’ll sure salivate that thing!”
“I ain’t mentionin’,” said Randerson. “But it ain’t you boys. You’ve suited me mighty well. I’m sure disturbed in my mind over leavin’ you.”
“Then why leave at all?” said Owen, his face long.
But Randerson evaded this direct question. “An’ you standin’ in line for my job?” he said in pretended astonishment. “Why, I reckon you ought to be the most tickled because I’m goin’!”
“Well, if it’s a go, I reckon we’ll have to stand for it,” said Blair a little later, as Randerson mounted his pony. Their parting words were short, but eloquent in the sentiment left unsaid.
“So long,” Randerson told them as he rode away. And “so long” came the chorus behind him, not a man omitting the courtesy.