She looked up to notice Loring’s glance upon her, and answered his “good morning” lightly. “You need not speak as though you were surprised, Mr. Loring,” she said, “I may have been late to breakfast five out of my six days, but that is no sign that it is a habit with me. Besides, you know that to-day I am to visit the mine.”
“So you are still determined?” he asked. “Really, Miss Cameron, it is not very safe. There might be an accident of some sort, and,” he went on, looking at her gown, “you will ruin your dress.”
“Do you fancy that I travel with only one?” Jean queried smiling. “It may be so, but not even my vanity shall deter me; I really must go.”
Just then Wah appeared on the veranda, and began to pound with his railroad spike on the iron triangle which, as at Quentin, served for a dinner gong.
“La, la, boom, boom! Breakfast!” he shouted, amidst the din which he was creating. “Me bludder, Steve, he almost late. La, la, boom, boom! Hot cakes, hot cakes; oh, lubbly hot cakes, oh, lubbly, lubbly—!”
In the midst of his song he caught sight of Jean, and stopping his pounding he beamed upon her.
“Goodee morning, missee, goodee morning! Missee on time this morning; how it happen?”
McKay angrily told him to shut up, but Miss Cameron stopped the rebuke, assuring Wah that his reproaches had been well deserved.
Several minutes after the others had begun their meal, Radlett appeared at breakfast, still struggling against sleepiness. Not even the clear early morning air had thoroughly aroused him. Breakfasts at half-past six were a distinct and not wholly appreciated novelty to Baird. He slipped into his place beside Jean, and endeavored to parry her banter upon his indolence. Stephen, at his side of the table, was occupied in dispensing the platter of “flap jacks,” which Wah, beaming with appreciation of their excellence, had set before him to serve.