From the first Northrup was aware of a subtle meaning for the call and he wondered if the woman, clicking her needles, fully comprehended it! The man, Maclin, he soon gathered, was no ordinary personage. He had a kind of superficial polish and culture that were evident in the tones of his voice. After having accounted for his presence by stating that he was looking about a bit and felt like being friendly, Maclin was rounded up by Aunt Polly asking what he was looking about at?
Maclin laughed.
“To tell the truth,” he said, as if taking Aunt Polly into his intimate confidence, “I was looking at the Point. A darned dirty bit of ground with all those squatters on it.”
“We haven’t ever called ’em that, Mr. Maclin. They’re folks with nowhere else to live.” Aunt Polly clicked her needles.
“They’re a dirty, lazy lot. I can’t get ’em to work over at the mines, do what I will.”
“As to that, Mr. Maclin, folks as are mostly drunk on bad whiskey can’t be expected to do good work, can they? Then again, if they are sober, I dare say they are too keen about those inventions of yours that must be so secret. Foreigners, for that purpose, I reckon are easier to manage.”
Maclin shifted his position and put the nape of his neck nearer the window again and Northrup lost any doubt he had about Aunt Polly’s understanding of the situation.
Maclin laughed. It was a trick of his to laugh while he got control of himself.
“You’re a real idealist, Miss Heathcote; most ladies are, some men are, too, until they have to handle the ugly facts of life.”