“Hoity-toity, young man! Who’s asked you to pay for my victuals? I didn’t; and more’n that it’s my intent and cal’lation to pay spot cash not only for what I eat but what Gabrielly does, too, and ’twon’t be my fault if she don’t get urged to fair stuff herself. So there.”
“Good enough, Aunt Sally! You’re a—a brick!” retorted this irreverent young man, having succeeded in his efforts at diversion and fully satisfied.
“No, I ain’t. I’m a decent human womanbody, that knows when she’s sassed at an’ when she isn’t. And you needn’t think you’re the only creatur’ livin’ can look after Gabriella Trent and them that’s dear to her. But—you can’t help bein’ what you are—a man!” The infinite scorn which Mrs. Benton threw into that one word tickled the ex-reporter into another gale of laughter, during which the carriage arrived at the hotel entrance and the group of Sobrante “boys” waiting there.
The sound of it didn’t please them. Not in the least. Their own countenances wore an expression befitting a funeral, and the mirth depicted on Ninian Sharp’s declared him what they had often felt him to be—a stranger and alien at Sobrante. It wasn’t his “little Captain” that had gone and left them desolate. It was their own, idolized “Lady Jess” in whom he had no right nor parcel, even though he had so fully won her love and confidence.
“Well! I’ve my opinion of a man that can laugh—to-day—after losing Sunny Face!” growled Samson under his breath.
“Light weight! Light weight, in his head. I always said so,” added John Benton, solemn as an owl or—as when he was attempting to lead the Sunday music at Sobrante.
In one glance at their stern faces Ninian Sharp comprehended what was in their minds, and set himself to undo any false impression he had given. That, despite their growls, they liked him he was perfectly sure; also, that though they did indeed sorely feel the loss of the girl they adored they were still human enough to enjoy their present outing in the “City of the Angels,” and—a good dinner!
Handing the ladies over to the care of an obsequious clerk, he proceeded to line up the ranchmen and to usher them into the big dining-room, with its long array of neatly-spread tables, and toward that corner of it which the head waiter indicated.
Inwardly he enjoyed that brief march from the door to the chairs, each “boy” assuming an air of I-do-this-sort-of-thing-every-day, don’t-you-know, and each displaying an awkwardness quite unknown at quiet Sobrante. However, once in their places, and he acting as interpreter of the menu spread before them, they forgot themselves and awaited the feast with scant thought for anything beyond it.
Till, just as Mr. Sharp was rising to rejoin Mrs. Trent and Aunt Sally in another room, he bethought himself to “count noses” and found himself one nose short. One empty chair faced him, one fine old presence was missing: