Embarrassment did follow! Embarrassment and tears and explanations and not a little ill-concealed amusement. For one long hour Vivian, in spite of sympathy and understanding and genuine admiration, wished she had never been born. In that hour she discovered that a finer courage is necessary to admit a mistake and to begin anew than to besiege a hobo in a root-cellar. But she proved equal to the task, and Mr. Crusoe in the part he played showed himself the gentleman he really was. For when Vivian was convinced that Mr. Crusoe had been given the key by Mr. Hunter, that he had been told to fetch the papers, and that he really was trustworthy after all, she dried her tears, donned a fresh middy, and went quite alone to offer her apologies.
She found Mr. Crusoe by the bunk-house. He 145 had shaved in the meantime, and when Vivian saw his clean firm chin, she knew it was partly the whiskers which had made her level the gun at him.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Crusoe,” she stammered. “You see, I thought you were just a tramp, and at home we are always afraid of them. But I know now you aren’t. I know I’ve been wrong all the time, and—oh, I’m awfully glad the gun didn’t go off!”
Mr. Crusoe removed his battered old hat and offered his freshly-washed hand.
“I’m glad, too, Miss Vivian,” he said. “If it had, perhaps I couldn’t have told you how much pluck I think you’ve got stored away inside of you. And as for your being suspicious of the likes o’ me, I don’t wonder a mite. Only, you see, there are tramps and tramps. To the best of us, I guess trampin’ just means followin’ roads that lead to shelters—to homes, you see! And now you know I’m not the kind you thought I was, this here ranch looks like a mighty good home to me.”
“Then you won’t go back to Cripple Creek?” asked Vivian. “If I were you I’d stay right here.”
“That’s what I’m plannin’ on,” said Mr. Crusoe.