“Not entirely. And yet he always was rather easy-going, and you know how untidy the ranch is. He’s always been kindness and sympathy itself; but his lack of order is a cross. Perhaps now he will resign, rent the ranch, and move over here. I should like to live in the city for a while, and I’d like to travel a little.”
“Wouldn’t it be fine if you could! You could live at this hotel if you wanted to. Yes, you’re right. You need a rest from the ranch and dish-washing.”
Wayland returned with an increase of tension in his face.
“He’s here! I’ve sent word saying, ‘I am lunching in the café with ladies.’ I think he’ll come round. But don’t be afraid of him. He’s a good deal rougher on the outside than he is at heart. Of course, he’s a bluff old business man, and not at all pretty, and he’ll transfix you with a kind of estimating glare as if you were a tree; but he’s actually very easy to manage if you know how to handle him. Now, I’m not going to try to explain everything to him at the beginning. I’m going to introduce him to you in a casual kind of way and give him time to take to you both. He forms his likes and dislikes very quickly.”
“What if he don’t like us?” inquired Berrie, with troubled brow.
“He can’t help it.” His tone was so positive that her eyes misted with happiness. “But here comes our food. I hope you aren’t too nervous to eat. Here is where I shine as provider. This is the kind of camp fare I can recommend.”
Berrie’s healthy appetite rose above her apprehension, and she ate with the keen enjoyment of a child, and her mother said, “It surely is a treat to get a chance at somebody else’s cooking.”
“Don’t you slander your home fare,” warned Wayland. “It’s as good as this, only different.”
He sat where he could watch the door, and despite his jocund pose his eyes expressed growing impatience and some anxiety. They were all well into their dessert before he called out: “Here he is!”
Mrs. McFarlane could not see the new-comer from where she sat, but Berrie rose in great excitement as a heavy-set, full-faced man with short, gray mustache and high, smooth brow entered the room. He did not smile as he greeted his son, and his penetrating glance questioned even before he spoke. He seemed to silently ask: “Well, what’s all this? How do you happen to be here? Who are these women?”