“I’m waiting to introduce a young lady, sir. This is Miss Jones who has just come to town.”
Flagg tipped the shade of the lamp and deflected the light upon the couple. He bawled an ugly oath. “Clean shaved, again! Making a dude of yourself! Sapgagging with a girl?”
Latisan stepped forward and broke in on the tirade. “I’ll have to ask you to trig that kind of talk, Mr. Flagg. Miss Jones has come here to cheer you up.”
“When I want any girl to come here and cheer me up I’ll drop her a line and give her thirty days’ notice.”
The caller who had been snubbed so bluntly turned on her heel. She pleaded, faintly, “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll leave you and Mr. Latisan to talk over your business.”
“I can’t blame you for going,” said Latisan. He followed her, and to her profound amazement she discovered that a woodsman could be as temperamental as a prima donna. “I’m going, too, Mr. Flagg,” he called over his shoulder. “I’m going for good and all where you’re concerned. I’m done with you. I gave you your fair warning. Send another man north to the drive.”
“Just one minute, there, Latisan!” called the master, harshly. “Unless you’re afraid to stay here that length of time or can’t spare the minute away from your wench!”
The drive master stopped at the door and spun around on his heel.
There had been but one flash of the light’s rays on Lida—the old man had immediately allowed the shade to drop; standing just beyond the doorway in the hall, she was safely in the shadows.
“If you expect to hear me whinny like a sick horse you’re mistaken,” went on Flagg, with the staccato of ire. “Now I know what you’re worth. You have appraised yourself. A girl’s grin has bought you. I don’t know what sort she is, nor care I. But unless she’s a fool she can see what you’re worth, too. Go along, now!”