Deep gloom covered the retreat of the salad.
The coffee was brought in with ascetic simplicity. But Tony was not to be crushed. While Marshall was talking to Rickard, he insinuated a platter of cream puffs toward the ladies.
Marshall caught the sly action. He stopped. “You can have one—but only one, Rickard,” he commanded. “If Tony does not mind me, you must.”
“If you will excuse me,” Rickard was rising. “Tony, will you owe it to me? There really is other work to be done to-day. You are setting a bad example in camp, Mr. Marshall, you and Tony. We are not sybarites here.” His good-by to Innes was guarded. Why should she drop her eyes, she asked herself angrily? Nothing there that the whole world might not see! Marshall went out to the platform with his engineer. Immediately he came back, smiling, “Look here, girls!”
Claudia and Innes Hardin followed him to the platform. Under the kitchen window, a group of young engineers were eating indiscriminate “hand-outs.” MacLean, unabashed, waved a lukewarm stuffed pepper at his chief. Bodefeldt, caught red-handed, crimsoned under his desert tan when Innes’ glance isolated him, his mouth full of cream puffs, his hand greasy from fried bananas.
“He’s a prince,” cried Bangs, of the Reclamation Service.
“He can afford to be on that salary,” cried MacLean, with roguish intention. “I’d be generous on a hundred and fifty a month.”
“Mex.,” cried Bangs. “That’s only seventy-five.”
“It’s a hundred and fifty,” spluttered the white cap from the window. “I spend it in Mexico; I get twice as much for a dollar down there.”
“Don’t let them tease you, Tony,” laughed Marshall. “You’ll spend that hundred and fifty in Mexico next week.”