The boy’s grin remained, but his furtive eyes opened a shade wider.
“Wot do I want? Gee! You’re feelin’ friendly.” Then he put on a manner he intended to be facetious. “An’ me left my patch o’ pay-dirt, an’ all, to pay a ‘party’ call. Say, Miss Golden, that ain’t sassiety ways in this yer camp.”
His attempt at pleasantry went for nothing. Joan, studying the man closely, saw that his face was flushed, and, even at that distance, she could smell the drink he had been imbibing. She must get rid of him, but it was not so easy to her gentle nature. However, she took a firm stand.
“Maybe not,” she said coldly. “But when people make ‘party’ calls they generally do it at convenient times. I’m very busy.”
The man laughed in the harsh manner she disliked and rather feared.
“Kind o’ seemed busy when I got around. Y’ see you was sure that busy you didn’t hear my hoss comin’ along, you never see me git off him an’ leave him back ther’, an’ me come along over an’ stand watchin’ you doin’ nuthin’ fer nigh fi’ minutes. Oh, you’re sure busy!”
Joan flushed. She knew she had lied, but to be told so by this man was infuriating. She made no attempt to further disguise her feelings.
“I said I was busy,” she cried deliberately. “Surely that should be sufficient.”
But the man had no intention of accepting his dismissal.