Patton halted. “Hello,” he returned cheerily. “Who is it?”
The figure halted. “It’s Jeff Blandy,” was the answer.
“Oh.” The tone showed displeasure. Patton backed away a step. “Well, what can I do for you?”
Blandy did not reply at once. Then, “You can’t do nothin’ for me,” he said. “I just want to say a word or two about—Polly Baker.”
“Yes?” inquired Patton impatiently. “Well, hurry up. The ceremony’s at nine-thirty. The west-bound goes through at eleven.”
Again there was a short silence. When Blandy went on, his voice was lowered. “She ain’t got no paw nor maw, nor no brother. That’s why I’m a-speakin’ to you.”
“I’ll look after her,” said Patton coldly.
“I’d like to feel right shore of that. You see, she and me has been good friends for a long while. And I want to ask you, Patton, to play fair with her, and——”
“Say! look here!” broke in the other man. “You’re putting your lip into something that’s none of your business.”
“Do y’ think so?” retorted Blandy with sudden spirit. “Wal, out here in the West, a man’s likely to find hull crowds that’ll make it their business if he can’t see his way to treatin’ a woman white.”