"At a bush ranch the woman gets the plates."
"There's not much use in pretending the bush rules are yours," Jimmy rejoined. "Anyhow, I'll bring you all you want."
"Wash the plate, please," said Margaret. "I'd sooner you did not rub it with the towel."
Jimmy laughed. "You take things for granted. I'm not a complete bushman yet."
He cleaned the plates and knives, and Margaret studied him. Something of his carelessness and the hint of indulgence she had noted were gone. His face had got thin and his frank glance was steady. Although he laughed, his laugh was quiet. The bush was hardening him, and when she looked about she saw the progress he had made was good. Well, she knew Jimmy was not a loafer; after the cayuse kicked his leg he carried her heavy pack to the ranch.
"Now we can get to work," he said.
Margaret allowed him to put a trout and some hot flapjacks on her plate.
"After all, I like it when people bring me things," she remarked. "At Kelshope, when one wants a thing one goes for it. I reckon your friends ring a bell."
"Perhaps both plans have some drawbacks. Still I don't see why you bother to indicate that you do not ring bells."
"It looks as if you're pretty keen," said Margaret.