Halfway to the bunk house Genevieve met the ranch foreman.
"Why, Mr. Tim, supper is ready. Didn't you know?" she called, hurrying toward him. "Where are the boys?"
An odd expression crossed the man's kindly, weather-beaten face.
"Oh, they're 'round—in spots."
"Why don't they come to supper?"
Mr. Tim's eyebrows went up.
"Well, as near as I can make out, that's part of the welcome they're giving you."
"Welcome!—to stay away from supper!"
Mr. Tim laughed.
"I reckon maybe I'll have to explain," he replied. "Long John told me they'd got it all fixed up that, after your fine doings back East, you wouldn't take to things on the ranch very well. So for two days the whole bunch has been slicking things up, including themselves. They hunted up every stiff hat and b'iled shirt in this part of Texas, I reckon, for that splurge at Bolo; and Mammy Lindy says they've been pestering the life out of her, slicking up the house."