"Mr. Gaviller is always just—but, well, a leetle hard. He's pushing the people a little too far lately. I tell him so to his face—I oppose him all I can. But of course he's the boss."
Ambrose began to feel an obscure and discomforting indignation at his visitor. He wished he would go.
"You really must see our plant before you go back," said Strange; "the model farm, the dairy herd, the flourmill, the sawmill. Will you come up to-morrow and let me take you about?"
His glibness had the effect of rendering Ambrose monosyllabic. "No," he said.
"Oh, I say," said Strange, laughing, "what did you come to Fort
Enterprise for if you feel that way about us?"
Under his careless air Ambrose thought he distinguished a certain eagerness to hear the answer. So he said nothing.
"I'm afraid you and the old gentleman must have had words," Strange went on, still smiling. "Take it from me, his bark is worse than his bite. If he broke out at you, he's sorry for it now. It takes half my time to fix up his little differences with the people here."
He paused to give the other an opportunity to speak. Ambrose remained mum.
"The old man certainly has a rough side to his tongue," murmured
Strange insinuatingly.
"You're jumping to conclusions," said Ambrose coolly. "John Gaviller gave me no cause for offense. I was well entertained at his house."