“I said I wouldn't!” Joan snapped.
“But what do you care if it belonged to a fellow who's dead?... There! See that hole in the shirt. That's a bullet-hole. Don't be squeamish. It'll only make your part harder.”
“Mr. Kells, you seem to have forgotten entirely that I'm a—a girl.”
He looked blank astonishment. “Maybe I have.... I'll remember. But you said you'd worn a man's things.”
“I wore my brother's coat and overalls, and was lost in them,” replied Joan.
His face began to work. Then he laughed uproariously. “I—under—stand. This'll fit—you—like a glove.... Fine! I'm dying to see you.”
“You never will.”
At that he grew sober and his eyes glinted. “You can't take a little fun. I'll leave you now for a while. When I come back you'll have that suit on!”
There was that in his voice then which she had heard when he ordered men.
Joan looked her defiance.