“I’m taking the next train up,” he said, with his invariable assumption that everyone was interested in his doings. “They say there’s an old fellow away up in the mountains who’s a regular wild man. An Italian; he used to lead round one of those dancing bears, but it got away one night and he went into the woods after it, and never wanted to come back. Two or three people have told me about him. His hair’s got long, and he has a beard down to his waist. They say he won’t speak, but I guess I can make him. He runs away and tries to hide.”
“That sounds more like the bear,” said Edna. “Perhaps he ate the man and they’re both merged into one.”
He laughed.
“Well, I’m ready for bears, too,” he said. “I’ve got the best kind of rifle made, and I know how to use it.”
“Everything you have is the best there is, isn’t it?” said Andrée scornfully.
He reddened, but he answered cheerfully:
“You bet! And I’m proud of ’em, too. I earned ’em. They weren’t given to me by anyone else.”
Andrée turned away.
“Let’s walk up and down, Mother!” she said. “It’s so much hotter standing still.”
Claudine very willingly assented; the last thing in the world she wanted was for Gilbert to find them talking to that young man. He would be angry, and not without cause, for this was certainly not the sort of acquaintance for the mother of two young daughters to cultivate. Edna might talk to him with impunity, her sensible ideas and her humour legitimatized almost anything. She put her arm through Andrée’s and they began to saunter up and down, keeping a discreet distance from Mr. Stephens.