“But there ain’t no better teamster ever pushed on the webbin’s,” said the old man, admiration for all the folks of the woods still unflagging.
The girl did not display the same enthusiasm, either for Tommy Eye’s mishaps or for the bashful giant who stood shifting from foot to foot beside her seat.
“Crews going into the woods ought to be nailed up in box-cars, that’s what father says. And when they go through Castonia settlement I wish they were in crates, the same as they ship bears.”
“How is your father since spring?” asked the young boss, stammeringly, trying to appear unconscious of her scorn.
“Oh, he’s all right,” she returned, carelessly, patting her hand on her lips to repress a yawn.
“And is every one in Castonia all right?”
“You can ask them when you get there,” she replied, a bit ungraciously.
“I tell you, I was pretty surprised to see you get aboard the train down here at Bomazeen. I—”
She canted her head suddenly, and looked sidewise at him with an expression half satiric, half indignant.
“Do you think that all the folks who ever go anywhere in this world are river drivers and”—she shot a quick and disparaging glance at the still glowering Wade—“drummers?”