“But this other man; Dargin, did you call him? Isn’t Judith worse off than if she had no protector at all?”
“God knows,” said David, solemnly. “Except for the single fact that he seems to have some respect for her, he is the crudest of crude brutes, according to Plegg’s story. It’s going to be mighty hard to run him out of Powder Can.”
“Are you going to try to run him out?”
“It’s up to me, I guess. The railroad people won’t do anything, and the place has got to be cleaned up. This job of ours demands it. But see here; can’t we keep this talk from stumbling into the sink-holes? Tell me how long you are going to be content to stay away from the luxuries?”
“I told you there were times when I hated the luxuries. You must be awfully good to me if you don’t want me to run away to the lavishnesses that I use and despise in the same breath. I shall put on a khaki skirt and leggings, and you’ll have to show me everything that is going on. Have you seen father?”
“No, not yet.”
“Mercy me! I was to tell you to report to him at the car down in the railroad yard if I saw you first. I’m afraid I haven’t been a very obedient call-boy.”
David got out of his chair reluctantly.
“I’m trying to realize that you are sending me away—and that just as we were beginning to get down to the real heart of things. May I come back after your father is through with me? It is so soul-satisfying not to have to divide time with half a dozen other men.”
“The ‘other men,’ as you call them, will probably be here after a while; or some of them, at least,” she laughed. “And that reminds me; what have you done about sending for your father and sister? Nothing, I hope.”