“Oh, you don't think she won't—you don't think that?”
“Then you want her to approve?”
And Harriett nodded; a single little emphatic inclination of the head.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
BEYOND the windows of the Golden West Saloon, a cold rain deluged Grant City. Gibbs, in his shirt-sleeves, sat on the edge of his bar and dangled his fat legs. Arling, disreputable and evil to the eye, nodded in a warm corner by the stove. Gibbs was speaking, and he addressed himself to Stephen Landray, who was striding back and forth across the room.
“Better shut up the house, Steve, and let Mrs. Bassett go; and you and the boy come over and camp with my Julia and me. It will give Julia something to think of,” he urged hospitably.
“Thank you, general, but I must remain just where I am. In the spring I shall go further West—that is if I can stay until then.”
“I understand just how you feel,” said Gibbs, with ready sympathy. “And wherever you go I want you to remember that I don't consider myself permanently located here. I wish we might get into something together again.”