“Run a nice little restaurant.”
“But you can’t, ma,” Terry objected. “These railroad towns are awful tough towns, at first.”
“Yes, we can. As soon as the men find out that we’re ladies, and serve such good food, they’ll treat us all right, we’re sure. We haven’t had a bit of trouble, so far. We won’t serve a great variety, but what we do serve will be real home cooking.”
“Does dad know about it?”
“Not a word, and I don’t want him to know till the track gets here. Then we’ll surprise him.”
“But, ma! We’ll all be going on again. We won’t be here very long, maybe. You both can’t stay in Cheyenne, running a restaurant.”
“We don’t intend to,” laughed his mother, briskly. “We’re going on with you—clear through, with the U. P. Aren’t we, Mrs. Stanton!”
“Indeed we are. We’ll hire somebody to pack our things, each time the town moves. And at every new town you boys and your fathers (I only hope George’s father will be near) will know just where to get something good to eat. Oh, we’ll watch after you.”
Now there was another interruption. She was a girl, George’s sister. He called her his “little” sister, but she was growing faster than he.
“Hello, Virgie!”