“Has Leslie ever been here before?” asked Molly Breckenridge.
“No. It is as much a surprise to him as to his mother. But he’s mighty proud of his father,” answered Dorothy. “Look, here he comes now.”
He came running across the sward and down the rocky path to the edge of the lake and clapped a hand on the shoulders of Herbert and Montmorency. He did not mean to be less cordial to Jim Barlow but he was. For two reasons: one that Dorothy had extolled her humble friend till he seemed a paragon of all the virtues; and secondly what he had learned of Jim’s eagerness for knowledge had made him ashamed of his own indifference to it. Even that day, his father had commended the poorer boy for his keen observation of everything and read him a portion of a letter received from Dr. Sterling, the clergyman with whom James lived and studied.
The Doctor had written that the lad was already well versed in natural history and that his interest in geology was as great as the writer’s own. He felt that this invitation to his beloved protégé was a wonderful thing for the student, and that Mr. Ford might feel he was having a hand in the formation of a great scientist.
There had been more of the same sort of praise and Leslie had looked with simple amazement at the tall, awkward youth, who had arrived in Denver with the rest of his young guests.
“That fellow smart? Clever? Brainy? Well, he doesn’t look it. If ever I saw a regular clodhopper, he’s the chap. But that Herbert Montaigne, now, is rippin’! He has the right ‘air,’ and so has the shorty, the fat Monty, only his figure is against him,” he had remarked to Mateo, who had instantly agreed with him. Indeed, the Mexican never disagreed with his “gracious excellency, Señor Leslie.”
Mateo‘s service was an easy one and his salary good. Besides, he was really fond of his young master and formed all his opinions in accordance. So then he, too, cast a supercilious glance at Jim, and had caused that shy lad’s color to rise, though beyond that he took no notice.
Already as they stood there gazing over the lake, crimson with the last rays of the sun, Jim was studying the rocks upon the farther side and squinting his eyes at something moving among them. It was with a startled return to his surroundings that he heard Leslie now say:
“My father wants to have you come in, Mr.—I mean James. The doctor is going to properly dress your arm.”
“The doctor? Is there a doctor here?” asked Dorothy, slipping her hand under Jim’s uninjured arm, and conveying by that action her sympathy with his feeling of an alien.