Dorothy blushed furiously, and disowned the soft impeachment; to which Whitley replied that unless her sweetheart got busy promptly and toed the line, he himself was coming back to Encampment to cut out so tardy a wooer. “Tell Grant Jones from me,” he said, “that it’s taking chances to leave the tempting peach upon the tree.” She slapped his hand playfully for his audacity, and Roderick hurried the flippant financier out of the room.
At midnight, in the bright moonlight, Whitley departed for Rawlins to catch his train. Nothing could persuade him to prolong his visit—Banker Miller would be hopping around like a cat on hot bricks, the bank going to wreck and ruin if he did not hurry back, the girls of Keokuk growing quite jealous of the beauties of Wyoming.
Like a whiff of sweet perfume the joyous youth was gone.
CHAPTER XXXI.—RODERICK’S DISCOVERY
NOTWITHSTANDING their change in fortunes,
Roderick and Grant still made the editor’s shack their home—the old place endeared to them by many fond associations. A few days after Whitley Adams’ visit they were seated at the breakfast table, and Grant had proposed that they should go deer hunting.
“Excellent weather,” he explained, “as the snow is just deep enough up in the mountains to drive the deer down. Finest sport in the world. Nothing like going after big game.”
“You almost persuade me,” said Roderick, setting down his coffee and looking at Grant with increased interest. “All the same I hate to leave the smelter plant even for a day or two. You see I’m just beginning to get a hang of the business, and I’ve quite made up my mind to master it.”