Part 35 (1/2)
The banker's att.i.tude since his interview with Kate and her subsequent astonis.h.i.+ng and unexpected payment of the mortgage had been one of polite aloofness. That matter was still a mystery which he hoped to solve sometime. But long ago Mr. Wentz had learned that the life of a banker is not the free independent life of a laundryman, and that with a compet.i.tor like Abram Pantin forever hara.s.sing him by getting the cream of the loans, it was sometimes necessary to make concessions and conciliations.
As Kate was leaving, he arose and extended a hand over the railing.
”We don't see you often, Miss Prentice.”
She showed no surprise at his action and extended her own hand without either alacrity or hesitancy as she replied briefly:
”I seldom come to Prouty.”
”I merely wished to say that if at any time we can accommodate you, do not hesitate to ask us.” Mr. Wentz realized that he was laying himself open to an embarra.s.sing reminder, and expected it, but Kate did not betray by so much as the flicker of an eyelid that she remembered when she had pleaded, not for money, but only for time to save herself from ruin.
”You are very kind.” She bowed slightly.
”You are one of our most valued customers.” Her reserve piqued him; it was a kind of challenge to his gallantry. ”I hope--I trust you will allow us to show our appreciation in some way--if only a small favor.”
”I don't need it.”
”You are very fortunate to be in that position, the way times are at present. In that case,” he smiled with the a.s.surance of a man who had had his conquests, ”I'll presume to ask one. We should be pleased--delighted to handle your entire account for you. You keep it--”
”In Omaha.”
”Why not in Prouty?” ingratiatingly.
Kate did not answer immediately, but while she returned the gaze of his melting brown eyes steadily she received a swift impression that for some reason deposits would be particularly welcome. There had been no eagerness or anxiety to suggest it, yet she had the notion strongly that the bank needed the money. Perhaps, she reasoned swiftly, the suspicion was born merely of her now habitual distrust of motives; nevertheless, it was there, to become a fixed opinion.
While she seemed to deliberate, Mr. Wentz's thoughts were of a different nature. If she were not so tanned and wore the clothes of civilization--she had the features, and, by George! she had a figure!
These interesting mental comments were interrupted by a sudden dilation of Kate's pupils as though from some sudden mental excitement. The gray iris grew luminous, he noticed, while her face was flooded with color, as though she had been startled.
”I will consider it.”
The answer was noncommittal, but the graceful sweeping gesture with which he stroked his mustache as she departed was one of satisfaction.
Mr. Wentz had a notion that after looking at him for all these years the young woman had just really seen him.
The banker returned to his desk, opened a drawer and extracted a small mirror, in which he regarded himself surrept.i.tiously. What was it about him--what one thing in particular, he wondered, that was so compelling that even a woman like this Kate Prentice must relent at his first sign of interest? Was it his appearance or his personality?
In the pleasing occupation of contemplating his own features and trying to answer these absorbing questions, Mr. Wentz forgot temporarily that Neifkins, in violation of the law governing such matters, was in debt to the bank beyond the amount of his holdings as director, and behind with his interest--a condition which had disturbed the president not a little because it was so fraught with unpleasant possibilities.
CHAPTER XVII
EXTREMES MEET
Kate raised herself on an elbow and looked out through the open window above her bunk where the first streak of dawn was showing. The soft air was redolent of things growing and the pungent odor of sagebrush. The bush birds were chirping furiously; all the soul-stirring magic of spring in the foothills was in its perfection; but it conveyed nothing to Kate save the fact that another day was beginning in which to get through the work she had outlined.
She was like that now--practical, driving, sparing neither herself nor others--apparently without sentiment or any outside interest. Her sheep and that which pertained to them seemed to fill her whole horizon.
The interior of the wagon alone was sufficient to disclose the change in Kate. As the growing light made the dim outlines clearer it brought out on the floor and side benches a promiscuous clutter that contained nothing suggesting a feminine occupant. There was no scrollwork in soap on the window now. On the contrary, the gla.s.s badly needed was.h.i.+ng. No decorative advertis.e.m.e.nt, no bouquet above the mirror, or festal juniper thrust between the oak bows and the canvas. A pile of market reports and _Sheep Growers' Journals_ replaced the fas.h.i.+on magazines, while the shelves that had contained romances and histories were filled with books on wool-growing.
The floor s.p.a.ce and side benches were occupied by new horse shoes, a can of paint, sheep shears, a lard bucket filled with nails and staples, boxes of rifle ammunition, riding boots and arctics, a halter and a broken bridle.