With no word of greeting, he said, with that superior air which so many city folk assume when addressing those who live in the country: “Have you people any fresh vegetables or eggs to sell?”
Brian and Betty Jo arose, and Brian, stepping forward, said, with a smile: “No, we have nothing to sell here; but I think our neighbor, Mr. Warden, just over the hill, would be glad to supply you. Won't you come in?”
The man stared at Brian, turned an appraising eye on Betty Jo; then looked curiously about the room.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, removing his cap, “I thought, when I spoke, that you were natives. My name is Green,—Harry Green. There is a party of us stopping at the clubhouse, up the river, there;—just out for a bit of a good time, you know. We are from St. Louis,—first time any of us were ever in the Ozarks,—friends of mine own the clubhouse.”
“My name is Burns,” returned Brian. “We noticed your boats on the river. You are enjoying your outing, are you?”
Again the man looked curiously from Brian to Betty Jo. “Oh, yes; we can stand it for awhile,” he answered. “We're a pretty jolly bunch, you see;—know how to keep things going. It would kill me if I had to live here in this lonesome hole very long, though. Don't you find it rather slow, Mrs. Burns?”
Poor Betty Jo's face turned fairly crimson. She could neither answer the stranger nor meet his gaze, but stood with downcast eyes;—then looked at Brian appealingly.
But Brian was as embarrassed as Betty Jo; while the stranger, as he regarded them, smiled with an expression of insolent understanding.
“I guess I have made another mistake,” he said, with a meaning laugh.
“You have,” returned Brian, sharply, stepping forward as he spoke; for the man's manner was unmistakable. “Be careful, sir, that you do not make another.”