"No! He's afraid of my work, so I'm going out on my own. He told me all about the swell quilts at Marsh's place, so I thought I'd lam up there and look them over. I may cop an heiress." He winked wisely. "If I see one that looks gentle, I'm liable to grab me some bride. He says there ain't one that's got less than a couple of millions in her kick."
Boyd was too weary to do more than wish him success, but it seemed that fortune favored Fraser, for before he had gone far he saw a young woman seated in a patch of wild flowers, plucking the blooms with careless hand while she drank in the beauty of the bright Arctic morning. She was simply dressed, yet looked so prosperous that Fraser instantly decided:
"That's her! I'll spread my checks with this one."
"Good-morning!" he began.
The girl gave him an indifferent glance from two fearless eyes, and nodded slightly. But "Fingerless" Fraser upon occasion could summon a smile that was peculiarly engaging. He did so now, seating himself hat in hand, with the words:
"If you don't mind, I'll rest a minute. I'm out for my morning walk. It's a nice day, isn't it?" As she did not answer, he ran on, glibly: "My name is De Benville—I'm one of the New Orleans branch. That's my cannery down yonder." He pointed in the direction from which he had just come.
"Indeed!" said the young lady.
"Yes. It's mine."
A wrinkle gathered at the corners of the stranger's eyes; her face showed a flicker of amusement.
"I thought that was Mr. Emerson's cannery," she said.