Now “awfully sorry” is not a western colloquialism, and the girl looked at him attentively. She liked his voice, and she rather liked his face, which, since he had not been called the Kid for nothing, was ingenuous. She laughed a little. Then she remembered something she had noticed.
“Well,” she observed, “I suppose you couldn’t help it. That load was too heavy; and aren’t you a little lame?”
“Not always,” said Weston. “I cut my foot a little while ago. If it hadn’t been for that I shouldn’t have fallen down and broken Miss Kinnaird’s things.”
“And mine!”
“And yours,” admitted Weston. “As I said, I’m particularly sorry. Still, if you will let me have the bag afterward I can, perhaps, mend the lock. You see, I assisted a general jobbing mechanic.”
Ida Stirling flashed a quick glance at him. He had certainly a pleasant voice, and his manner was whimsically deferential.
“Why didn’t you stay with him?” she asked. “Mending plows and wagons must have been easier than track-grading.”
Weston’s eyes twinkled.
“He said I made him tired; and the fact is I mended a clock. That is, I tried—it was rather a good one when I got hold of it.”
The girl laughed, and the laugh set them on good terms with each other. Then she said: