“And may I ask who is to be the fortunate young lady?” he ventured.
“You may,” said Transley, “but if you could see the length of your nose it wouldn’t be necessary. Linder, you’re the best foreman I ever had, just because you don’t ever think of anything else. When you pass on there’ll be no heaven for you unless they give you charge of a bunch of men and teams where you can raise a sweat and make money for the boss. If you weren’t like that you would have anticipated what I’ve told you—or perhaps made a play for Zen yourself.”
“Zen? You don’t mean Y.D.‘s daughter?”
“If I don’t mean Y.D.‘s daughter I don’t mean anybody, and you can take that from me. You bet it’s Zen. Say, Linder, I didn’t think I could go silly over a girl, but I’m plumb locoed. I bought the biggest old sparkler in this town and sent it out with Y.D., if he didn’t lose it through the lining of his vest—he handled it like it might have been a box of pills—bad pills, Linder—and I’ve got an architect figuring how much expense he can put on a house—he gets a commission on the cost, you see—and one of these nights I’m going to buy you a dinner that’ll keep you fed till Christmas. I never knew before that silliness and happiness go together, but they do. I’m glad I’ve got a sober old foreman—that’s all that keeps the business going.”
And after Transley had turned away Linder had scratched his head and said “By thunder.... Linder, when you wake up you’ll be dead.... After her practically saying ‘The water’s fine.’... Well, that’s why I’m a foreman, and always will be.”
But after a little reflection Linder came to the conclusion that perhaps it was all for the best. He could not have bought Y.D.‘s daughter a big sparkler or have built her a fine home—because he was a foreman. It was a round circle.... He threw himself into the building of Transley’s house with as much fidelity as if it had been his own. He gave his undivided attention to Transley’s interests, making dollars for him while earning cents for himself. This attention was more needed than it ever had been, as Transley found it necessary to make weekly trips to the ranch in the foothills to consult with Y.D. upon business matters.
Zen found her interest in Transley growing as his attentions continued. He spent money upon her lavishly, to the point at which she protested, for although Y.D. was rated as a millionaire the family life was one of almost stark simplicity. Transley assured her that he was making money faster than he possibly could spend it, and even if not, money had no nobler mission than to bring her happiness. He explained the blue-prints of the house, and discussed with her details of the appointments. As the building progressed he brought her weekly photographs of it. He urged her to set the date about Christmas; during the winter contracting would be at a standstill, so they would spend three months in California and return in time for the spring business.
Day by day the girl turned the situation over in her mind. Her life had been swept into strange and unexpected channels, and the experience puzzled her. Since the episode with Drazk she had lost some of her native recklessness; she was more disposed to weigh the result of her actions, and she approached the future not without some misgivings. She assured herself that she looked forward to her marriage with Transley with the proper delight of a bride-to-be, and indeed it was a prospect that could well be contemplated with pleasure.... Transley had won the complete confidence of her father and when doubts assailed her Zen found in that fact a very considerable comfort. Y.D. was a shrewd man; a man who seldom guessed wrong. Zen did not admit that she was allowing her father to choose a husband for her, but the fact that her father concurred in the choice strengthened her in it. Transley had in him qualities which would win not only wealth, but distinction, and she would share in the laurels. She told herself that it was a delightful outlook; that she was a very happy girl indeed—and wondered why she was not happier!
Particularly she laid it upon herself that she must now, finally, dismiss Dennison Grant from her mind. It was absurd to suppose that she cared more for Grant than she did for Transley. The two men were so different; it was impossible to make comparisons. They occupied quite different spheres in her regard. To be sure, Grant was a very likeable man, but he was not eligible as a husband, and she could not marry two, in any case. Zen entertained no girlish delusions about there being only one man in the world. On the contrary, she was convinced that there were very many men in the world, and, among the better types, there was, perhaps, not so much to choose between them. Grant would undoubtedly be a good husband within his means; so would Transley, and his means were greater. The blue-prints of the new house in town had not been without their effect. It was a different prospect from being a foreman’s wife on a ranch. Her father would never hear of it....
So she busied herself with preparations for the great event, and what preparations they were! “Zen,” her father had said, “for once the lid is off. Go the limit!” She took him at his word. There were many trips to town, and activities about the old ranch buildings such as they had never known since Jessie Wilson came to finish Y.D.‘s up-bringing, nor even then. The good word spread throughout the foothill country and down over the prairies, and many a lazy cloud of dust lay along the November hillsides as the women folk of neighboring ranches came to pay their respects and gratify their curiosity. Zen had treasures to show which sent them home with new standards of extravagance.