Uncomfortably, MacLean cleared his throat before he read that his father begged a small favor of Rickard. “Godfrey, the celebrated English tenor, is on my hands. His doctors have been advising outdoor occupation. I am sending him to you, asking you to give him any job you may have. He is willing to do anything. Put him at something to keep him occupied.”
MacLean saw Rickard’s face turn red. “Suffering cats! A worn-out opera-singer! What sort of an opera does he think we’re giving down here? Why doesn’t he send me a fur coat, or a pair of girl twins? Give the tenor a rôle! Anything else? Pile it all on.”
“That’s all.” MacLean was turning away. Then, as an afterthought, he threw over his shoulder, “Oh, and one from Godfrey himself. He’s in Los Angeles. He says he’ll be here to-morrow.” He did not wait for his chief’s reply.
At the supper-table, Rickard, dry and in restored humor, alluded to the invasion of high notes. “Pity the parts are all assigned! He might have done the ‘Toreador,’ or ‘Canio.’ The only vacancy—” he could safely gibe at his own complications, for the Hardins were dining on the Delta that evening, “is in the kitchen. I wonder how he would like to be understudy to Ling!”
The next day when the incident had been forgotten, and while Rickard was up at the Crossing on the concrete gate, Godfrey blew into camp. He was like a boy out on a lark. His brown eyes were dancing over the adventure.
“He’s certainly not sick,” thought MacLean, Jr. “Must be his throat.” He was a little piqued over Rickard’s sarcasm. What in creation was his father thinking about, anyway?
Godfrey asked to be turned loose. “I won’t be in any one’s way!” He explored the Heading, covered the by-pass in a river boat, went a way down the river, down the old channel through which considerable water was now flowing, made the trip down the levee work, on horseback, and came back bubbling.
“It’s the biggest thing I ever saw. But say, Junior, that’s what they call you, isn’t it? I’m the only idle man here. Can’t you give me something to do?”
MacLean was not sure but that the suggestion of Rickard’s had been a jest. He felt abashed to repeat it. “I’ll do anything,” twinkled the handsome tenor. “I’d like the boss to find me busy when he comes in.”
MacLean softened the offer. Perhaps until Mr. Godfrey learned the ropes he could be of general use. They were short-handed the present moment—there was another hesitation—in the kitchen! Ling, the Chinese cook, was overcrowded—so many visitors—