The girl smiled. “I was thinking of a queer old man who is camping up in the mountains, and wondering how he has weathered the storm.”
“Oh, indeed!” Mr. Edrington sat up as though interested. “Is this—er—old man of whom you speak a particular friend of yours?”
The girl nodded, then laughed. “Well, at least I do feel friendly toward him because he likes books. He has had two of mine, one on snakes and the other a history.”
Then, turning she asked a direct question: “Won’t you tell me your name? It’s hard to talk to a person and not call him anything.”
The young engineer flushed. “I say, Miss Bayley,” he apologized, “you’ll think I’m a regular boor, won’t you? I—er—my name is—Rattlesnake Sam.”
The girl’s amused laughter rang out, and though the listener was relieved, he was certainly puzzled.
“I was sure of it!” she said triumphantly. “You see what an excellent detective I am.”
“But, I say, Miss Bayley, this isn’t very complimentary. I do know that I need shaving, but Ken led me to believe that you thought Rattlesnake Sam was an old, dry-as-dust professor, a sort of ‘fossil,’ and I—er—” Then the young engineer laughed in his hearty, boyish way. “Honestly, Miss Bayley, I didn’t suppose I looked quite that old and fogyish.” Then the query: “Do I?”
The girl shook her head, but her eyes still twinkled. “No-o!” she confessed almost reluctantly, “and I’m dreadfully disappointed in you. I was actually looking forward to meeting the snake professor who looked like—well, like Thoreau or Burroughs, as I fancied, and now—” Pausing, the girl tilted her head sideways and gazed at him critically and yet merrily.
His good-looking bronzed face was expressive as he watched her, and his eyes were telling how much he admired her. He wondered what she would say.