Kate gave a final glance round at the walls of green logs, and noted with appreciation the picturesque dovetailing of every angle.
“Well,” she declared, after a moment’s thought, “all I can say is that the design’s working out in truly elegant fashion. Charlie’s done his work well—and so have the boys.” She beamed pleasantly upon her audience, two men balancing themselves upon the open floor joists of the new church. “It’s a real work of art. It’s going to be swell, and the folks should be just proud of it.”
Billy Unguin smiled confidently.
“Oh, the folks’ll be proud of it all right, all right,” he said. “They’ll yap about this place, and how they built it, till you’ll wish it was swallowed up by that kingdom they guess they’re going to get boosted into by means of it. They’ll have one hell of a burst at the saloon when the work’s done, and every feller’ll be guessin’ he could have done the other feller’s job better than he could have done it himself, and the women folk’ll just say what elegant critturs their men are, till they get home sossled. Then they’ll beat hell out of ’em. They’ll sure be proud of it, but I don’t guess the church’ll be proud of them. It’ll have hard work helpin’ most of ’em into the kingdom. Ain’t that so, Allan?”
Billy asked for confirmation of his opinions merely as a matter of form. But Allan Dy displayed little interest in them. He had some of his own.
“Guess so,” he murmured indifferently.
“Course it’s so,” said Billy sharply.
“Dessay you’re right,” replied Dy, with still less interest. “But I ain’t got time thinking conundrums. I get too many, running the mail. Still, I’d like to say right here this doggone church ain’t architecture. Maybe it’s art, as Miss Kate says. But it ain’t architecture. That’s what it ain’t,” he finished up, with decided emphasis.
Kate smiled upon him. She was interested in what lay behind the remark.
“How—how do you make that out, Allan?” she inquired.