Scott did not say anything, but he made a mental note of what Jimmy said about it being Foster’s third attempt to scare the big black team. It was the first link in the chain of evidence he intended to collect against him.
As long as he was down in the valley and it was so near noon Scott decided to go in to dinner. He was still staying at the hotel, not because he liked it, but it enabled him to keep in touch with local gossip through the station agent and he thought it might give him a better chance to see Hopwood. He was doubtful whether it would be a good thing for Hopwood to come around camp with that strange iron hat. The men would undoubtedly tease him, and he did not know how Hopwood would take it.
As he passed the bunk house he heard some one singing inside. It was not usual for any one to be in the bunk house at that time of day, unless it was the bull cook, and it did not sound like him. Scott stepped in and found one of the swampers sprawled on a bench and crooning a maudlin song. His first thought was that the man might have been hurt in the runaway, but certainly some one would have mentioned it if he had.
“Sick, Dick?” Scott asked.
The man looked at him with bleary eyes and arose with a ludicrous attempt at dignity. Scott saw at once that the man was drunk.
“No, shur,” the man replied with an elaborate bow which almost upset him.
“Then why aren’t you at work?” Scott asked sharply.
“Becaush I don’t have to work for anybody,” Dick replied with another deep bow which brought him unexpectedly to his hands and knees on the bench in front of him. “I’m a gentleman, I am,” he added as he straightened himself with difficulty.
Scott looked at him with disgust. “When Mac comes in tell him I said to give you your time,” he exclaimed impatiently and turned to the door.
“Time,” Dick exclaimed. “Give me my time. I’ve got all the time there is. I’m a gentleman, I tell you.”