"If you go out to Hunker Creek I'll scarcely ever see you," said she.
"That's the first objection. I've nearly died these last three weeks.
But there are other objections. You couldn't get along with those old
men. Why, they can't get along with each other! Then there's Joe
McCaskey to think of. Why run into trouble?"
"I've thought of all that. But Big Lars is on the crest of his wave; he has the Midas touch; everything he lays his hands on turns to gold. He believes in Hunker—"
"I'll find out if he does," Laure said, quickly. "He's drinking. He'll tell me anything. Wait!" With a flashing smile she was off.
She returned with an air of triumph. "You'll learn to listen to me," she declared. "He says Hunker is low grade. That's why he lets lays on it instead of working it himself. Lars is a fox."
"He said that?"
"The best there is in it is wages. Those were his very words. Would you put up with Linton and Quirk and the two McCaskeys for wages? Of course not. I've something better fixed up for you." Without explaining, she led Pierce to the bar, where Morris Best was standing.
Best was genuinely glad to see his former employee; he warmly shook
Pierce's hand.
"I've got 'em going, haven't I?" he chuckled.
Laure broke out, imperiously: "Loosen up. Morris, and let's all have a drink on the house. You can afford it."
"Sure!" With a happy grin the proprietor ordered a quart bottle of wine. "I can afford more than that for a friend. We put it over, didn't we, kid?" He linked arms with Pierce and leaned upon him. "Oy! Such trouble we had with these girls, eh? But we got 'em here, and now I got Dawson going. I'll be one of these Rockyfeller magnets, believe me."