“And it’s all so uncomfortable living alone,” Ralph grumbled. He was unshaven. The others showed in various aspects of untidiness the lack of female standards.
“I’m so sick of my own cooking,” Honey complained.
“Not so sick as we are,” said Pete.
“Anybody can have my job that wants it,” Honey volunteered with a touch of surliness unusual with him.
At noon the five women appeared again at the end of the trail.
In contrast to the tired faces and dishevelled figures of the men, they presented an exquisite feminine freshness, hair beautifully coiled, garments spotless and unwrinkled. But although their eyes were like stars and their cheeks like flowers, their faces were serious; a dew, as of tears lately shed, lay over them.
“Shall Angela fly?”’ Julia asked without parley.
The women turned.
“Wait a moment,” Frank called in a sudden tone of authority. “I’m with you women in this. If you’ll let me join your forces, I’ll fight on your side.”
He had half-covered the distance between them before Julia stopped him with a “Wait a moment!” as decisive as his own.