“Then, since they let you stop, I reckon your luck was good.”
“One on you, Kit!” said Austin. “But supper’s ready. Come along.”
They went to another room, and when Kit saw Miss Grey opposite him across the table he was rather resigned than pleased. She, however, was Alison’s friend and he gave her an interested glance. She was thin and her mouth was ominously firm, but although her look was scornful he thought her sincere. Her color was not, like Alison’s, delicate and fresh. Miss Grey had occupied small rooms and borne the stove’s dry heat; she, rather evidently, used powder.
“You’re a Toronto girl, Carrie,” she remarked to Mrs. Austin. “Toronto folks have homes and don’t live at restaurants. I hope you won’t hustle us. I like to squander a few minutes over supper.”
“We will not get up until you wish to, and if you like, we’ll stop for half an hour. How long do they allow you at the bridge, Mr. Carson?”
“At the bunk-house ten minutes, and as a rule I was left. When Bob and I dine at the office fifteen minutes sees us out. You’re a hospitable lot, but to hold on for half an hour at Western speed is impossible.”
“Then you think us hospitable?”
“I have some grounds, ma’am. When I got off the cars, I was tired and hungry, but my wad was five dollars, and I saw I must not be extravagant——” “Was that all, Kit?” Alison inquired, and blushed.
“About five dollars,” said Kit with some embarrassment. “Well, a storekeeper gave me an iced drink and a can of fruit. At the bridge the cook gave me supper and appointed me his musician. Soon afterwards a man I met on the cars got me a job at the forge. When you know yourself a stranger things like that weigh.”
“Jock’s a Scot,” Austin remarked.