“Dey’re yoost vhere dey belongs, I tank,” answered Stefan, quietly. “Miss Sophy, if you haf time I take two plugs Lumberman’s Joy terbacker.”
“Stefan he’s so all-fired big he got to keep a chew on each side of his face,” explained Pat Kilrea, a first-rate mechanic who was then busy with the construction of a little steamer that was to help tow down to the mill some big booms of logs, as soon as the lake opened. “He ain’t able to get no satisfaction except from double action.”
At this specimen of local wit and humor the others grinned but Stefan remained quite unmoved. Miss Sophy waited on him, scanning his face, eager to ask more questions, while she feared to say a word. It may have been her conscience which made her uneasy. Of course she believed that the precautions she had taken rendered it impossible for any one 156 to accuse her, or at any rate to prove anything. Still, a certain anxiety remained, which she was unable to restrain. She would have given a good deal to know what had taken place. Never had she doubted that the scene would occur right there at the station in Carcajou. That telegram had badly upset her plans, apparently. And then it was queer that Hugo had not come down after receiving it, if only to try to find out what it meant. Finally, one of the men, having none of her reasons for keeping still, came forth with a direct question.
“I reckon you got out to Roarin’ Falls all safe with that there pooty gal, didn’t ye?” he asked.
It was Joe Follansbee who had sought this information, being only too eager to hint at something wrong on the part of a man he had long deemed a rival. At his words, however, Sophy sniffed and turned up her nose.
“I didn’t see anything very pretty about her,” she said.
“Well, I didn’t see as how she was so real awful pretty,” Joe hastened to observe. “She ain’t the style I admire, by no manner of means.”
This strategic withdrawal was destined to meet with entire failure, however. Sophy 157 turned to the boxes of plug that were stored on the shelves and pretended to busy herself with their order and symmetry. But she was again listening, eagerly.
“What d’ye say, Stefan?” joined Pat Kilrea. “How’d she stand the trip? Did ye see if her nose was still on her face when ye got there?”
“I tank so,” opened Stefan, gravely, “but it wouldn’t matter so much vith de leddy. Maybe she ain’t so much use for it like you haf for yours, to stick into oder people’s pusinesses.”