She resented his tone by maintaining a silence that he interpreted as an assent to his question.
“Ain’t they no chance if I quit?”
“I want you to quit, Andy,” she replied slowly, as a motherly, almost pitying expression settled on her young face. “I like you more than most any of the men I know, but I guess there’s no chance. I can’t help it.”
Slocum stood before her like a self-conscious and disappointed schoolboy. He had what his associates termed “plenty of nerve,” but Swickey’s clear brown eyes seemed to read him through and through, and he resented it by exclaiming,—
“It’s that man Ross, then.”
Swickey flushed despite herself.
“I knowed it,” he said quickly. “So that’s what he’s been hanging round Lost Farm for. Hoss Avery’s partner! Makin’ no show of courtin’ you—and he wins. Well, I’ll say this, Ross is straight, and seein’ somebody had to get you, I’m glad it’s him instead of that plug Smeaton.”
Swickey’s eyes twinkled. “So somebody had to get me—you’re sure about that, Andy?”
He frowned, but she stepped close to him and put her hands on his shoulders. “Andy, I like you better than ever for saying what you did about Mr. Ross, but he has never said a word to me about—that. I was only fifteen when he left here.”
“Then it’s Joe. But how in thunder you can—”