“I’m not busy,” said Bowen bitterly. “I’m on a vacation. I’ll do anything you ask.”
“I was wondering if—if you would let me indorse the stock over to you, and then you could act as you think best. Either sell it, or bargain for a higher figure—”
She paused, her grave eyes intent upon his lean-muscled face.
“If it’s too much to ask of you,” she went on, “please say so. I don’t want to make you trouble or to impose on you, Mr. Bowen; you’re been altogether too good in wasting this much of your time on me—”
“Wasting it? Great Jehu! I was just kicking myself for wasting so much time in not knowing you—I mean,” he added confusedly, “for not having wasted a little time in the past—no, I don’t mean that either. Well, if you’re willing to trust me, I’ll do my best in the matter! Where’s the stock?”
“I have the certificates here,” and the girl turned to the desk, but not quickly enough to hide the new tide of crimson that had welled into her face. It was not hard for any young lady to see that Bob Bowen of Tonopah was flustered. And Bob Bowen, as this young lady knew very well, had the reputation of never being flustered by anything or any one.
Why should she not blush, at such an unspoken compliment?
III—A QUICK SALE.
On the following morning Bob Bowen did not at once leap up and dress, nor did he disturb the morning paper. Instead, he lay quiet and frowned at the ceiling.
“No doubt at all about it,” he reflected. “She never said a word about it, of course. She’s not that kind. Just the same, it was there. It was in her eyes. Fear! She was afraid of something. That’s why she gave me that stock in trust.”