"Good-evening, sir. Good-evening, madam. Don't rise. Keep your seats. I'll just drop my coat and sit down with you."
He was so distinctly a man of remarkable quality that Curtis stared at him in deep surprise. He had expected to see a loose-jointed, slouchy man of middle-age, but Joseph Streeter was plainly a man of decision and power. His white hair did not betoken weakness or age, for he moved like one in the full vigor of his late manhood. To his visitors he appeared to be a suspicious, irascible, and generous man.
"Hello!" he called, jovially, "biscuit! Cal, you didn't do these, nor Hosy, neither."
Cal grinned. "Well, not by a whole row o' dogs. This—lady did 'em."
Streeter turned his vivid blue eyes on Jennie. "I want to know! Well, I'm much obliged. When did you come?" he asked of Curtis.
"About an hour ago."
"Goin' far?"
"Over to the agency."
"Friend of the agent?"
"No, but I have a letter of introduction to him."