Jack looked at him quickly, all his enthusiasm of friendliness dying down.
"We can seem to become good friends by degrees," Garrod went on lamely. "It need only be a matter of a few days."
"Just as you like," said Jack coolly.
"But it's you I'm thinking of."
"You needn't," said Jack. "I don't care what people call me. You needn't be afraid that I'll trouble you with my society."
"You don't understand," Garrod murmured miserably.
However, in merely bringing the matter up he had accomplished his purpose, for Jack never acted quite the same to him afterward.
A little to one side of the tents they came upon a group of finished worldliness such as had never before been seen about Fort Cheever. From afar, the younger Cranston boys stared at it awestruck. Miss Trangmar and her companion sat in two of the folding chairs, basking in the sun, while Vassall and Baldwin Ferrie reclined on the grass at their feet, the former, his day's work behind him, now clad in impeccable flannels. The centre of the picture was naturally the little beauty, looking in her purple summer dress as desirable, as fragile, and as expensive as an orchid. At the sight of her Jack's nostrils expanded a little in spite of himself. Lovely ladies who metamorphosed themselves every day, not to speak of several times a day, were novel to him.
As the two men made to enter the main tent she called in her sweet, high voice: "Present our benefactor, Mr. Garrod."
Garrod brought Jack to her. Garrod was very much confused. "I——I"—he stammered, looking imploringly at Jack.