The sailor laughed quietly for a moment as if he had some mighty good joke in his mind, then with a half-deprecative, half-protesting movement of the hand, “All right,” he said, “don’t get on your ear. There’s no need for us to quarrel over a native.”
“But I strongly object to the tone you adopt when speaking of the girl,” persisted Roy, indignantly, “and while we are on the subject I may as well tell you that I will not tolerate any more of it. You are my guest, so to speak, but my patience has an end, and my hospitality its limits.”
Broom’s jaw dropped; he was evidently nonplussed.
There was a silence. Broom’s eyes were fixed upon the floor. He seemed to be considering. Roy turned away to walk up and down.
“Oh, stow it!” exclaimed Broom at last, without raising his eyes. “You Hudson’s Bay men are not so dashed good yourselves that you can afford to lecture others.”
“That is as may be,” returned the trader sharply, “but you see, I’m master here and——”
“The king can do no wrong,” finished the other sententiously. Then he laughed and suddenly extended his hand. “Come, shake hands,” he cried. “You’re not a bad chap in spite of your sanctimonious airs.”
This remark was evidently intended as an overture of reconciliation. Roy stared hard at him for a moment, then glanced at the outstretched hand. He hated quarrelling, but he was feeling too angry at the man to forgive him thus easily. The other noticed Roy’s hesitation and look, and quickly dropped his hand. Somewhat staggered, the fellow sat twisting his moustache, pulling at his shaggy beard and scowling at the trader, who had resumed his pacing. After spending a portion of his discomfiture in this manner, Broom again essayed a remark.
“Guess I was in the wrong,” he said, as if by way of general retraction. “You’ve been a good friend to me, in fact you saved my life. For when I drifted in here, after deserting that blighted whaler, I was all in; the winter was upon me, and, why! I hadn’t enough clothes to flag a train.” At this he laughed heartily. “You took me in, clothed me, and killed the fatted caribou. Hang it, shake!” and he thrust forth his hand again.
Roy stopped perambulating. “Perhaps I’ve been a little hasty,” he said, and took the man’s hand, though he was still only half mollified, for this sudden warmth of gratitude struck him as feigned. “She is a demure, soft-hearted little thing, and I do not like to hear her spoken of in that way,” he explained, dropping into a chair.