“Don’t!” she protested. “How could you talk with him so?—what dreadful boots he wore!”
Dorothy laughed outright.
“My dear, his boots do not cover his head. Would you have a man dig coal in patent-leathers?”
Ethel made a wry face and was silent.
“Seriously, dear,” Dorothy went on, “he was very interesting to me. His knowledge of books was most amazing. What he is doing here I can’t imagine—he’s no common miner!”
“Oh, of course not,” laughed Ethel mockingly. “No doubt he’s a college president in disguise! But really, I’m not in the least interested. Let’s talk of something else.” And she changed the subject.
And yet it was Ethel who, at dinner that night, turned to Mr. Barrington with the abrupt question:
“Father, who is living in the old shanty just beyond the Deerfield woods?”
“I’m sure I haven’t the least idea, my daughter,” replied the man, mildly indifferent.
“Perhaps I can assist Miss Barrington in the matter,” interposed the smooth voice of Mark Hemenway. “It has lately been taken in hand by a curious creature known as ‘Hustler Joe.’”