Mrs. Morse put her small, cold hand on Kelley's wrist. "Don't mind my daughter. She's got this new fad of speaking her mind. She's a good daughter—even if she does say rude things."
"Oh, I don't mind being called 'a good-looker,'" said Kelley, "only I want to be sure I'm not being made game of."
"You needn't worry," retorted Fred. "A man of your inches is safe from ridicule."
"Ridicule!" exclaimed Florence, with a glance of admiration. "You can't ridicule a tall pine."
"I told you she'd have you a part of the landscape," exulted Fred. "She'll have you a mountain peak next."
Kelley, who felt himself at a disadvantage, remained silent, but not in a sulky mood. The girl was too entertaining for that. It amused him to get the point of view of a city-bred woman to whom everything was either strange or related to some play or story she had known. The cabins, the mills, the occasional miners they met, all absorbed her attention, and when they reached the little shaft-house and were met by old Hank Stoddard, Kelley's partner, her satisfaction was complete, for Hank had all the earmarks of the old prospector—tangled beard, jack-boots, pipe, flannel shirt, and all. He was from the South also, and spoke with a drawl.
"Oh, but he is a joy!" Florence said, privately, to Kelley. "I didn't know such Bret Harte types existed any more. How did you find him?"
"I used to know him down on the Perco. He had a mine down there that came just within a hair-line of paying, and when I ran across him up here he had a notion the mine would do to lease. I hadn't much, only a horse and saddle and a couple of hundred dollars, but we formed a partnership."
"That was before my brother came into the firm."
Kelley recovered himself. "Yes; you see, he came in a little later—when we needed a little ready cash."