“Yes, ma'am, you're too pretty for this corner of the woods.”
Estelle blushed and shook her head.
“But that's the gospel truth, sure as I'm Dick Smiley. And I can see you're too sensible to get mad at any one for telling the truth.”
“Oh, Captain, I'm afraid you're a flirt,” simpered Estelle.
“Me, flirt? Never. Not on your diamond ear-rings!”
“Sh! What would Ed think if he was to come in and hear you talking like that?”
Spencer, in truth, was already on the steps; in another moment he came into the room at the head of his men. And Dick, suddenly aware that his tongue was taking liberties with him, shut his lips tight and refused to speak another word throughout the meal. In vain the lumberman rallied him; in vain the men made advances; in vain Estelle, who was waiting on table, threw him glances from behind Spencer's chair or let her hand brush his in passing him the potatoes; from a flushed, talkative man, Dick had turned abruptly into a silent, moody one, and he ate steadily, with eyes for nothing but his food.
The meal was nearly over when Spencer, looking around the table, said, “Hello, where's Pete?”
“He's busy,” replied one of the men, “said he'd be a little late.”
“Well, if he likes his vittles cold, I guess it's his own funeral.”