"Sure," he said coldly.
"Couldn't you hand me another section?" Frank asked, after an awkward pause, while Leyburn regarded his averted face closely.
"Why?" The demand rapped out. It was full of a sudden, angry distrust. Leyburn was not in the habit of having his orders questioned in his own office.
But Frank's hesitation and nervousness vanished under the other's intolerable manner. Leyburn's attitude was not one he was prepared to submit to. He felt it would not have been displayed, but for his failure with the railroaders. If that was the sort of man Leyburn was—well——
"I can't do the work you want me to, round about Deep Willows," he said, with deliberate coldness.
"Why?" Again came the monosyllabic inquiry. But this time it was in genuine surprise, and possessed no resentment.
Frank found it easier to explain in consequence.
"You see, Mon—Mrs. Hendrie is—is my foster mother," he said simply. "I owe her nothing but good. I can never tell you of the sacrifices she has made for me, and of her devotion. I shouldn't like to hurt her."
Leyburn stared. There was no resentment in him now—only amazement.
"Then—then—Hendrie is——"