Part 10 (1/2)
”Sure Mike,” said Moffat.
”Did he?” Selden's tones descended to the deep ba.s.s boom which marked certain moods.
”Oh, dear!” Jessamy complained good-naturedly. ”What's the use? Can't you see the postmark and the cancelled stamp, Mr. Selden?”
Selden contemplated them. ”Yes, I see 'em,” he admitted; ”I see 'em. But I thought, s' long's ye was with that young Drew fella today, he might 'a' saved his stamp and sent her to me by you.”
”That being satisfactorily decided,” chirped Jessamy, ”let us now open the missive and learn what Mr. Drew has to communicate.”
”Heaven's sake, Pap, open it and shut up!” growled Moffat, his mouth full of potato.
”I'll take a quirt to you if ye tell me to shut up ag'in!” thundered Selden.
Thereupon he tore the envelope and leaned out from his chair so that the light from a window flooded the single sheet which the envelope contained.
He read silently, slowly, craggy brows drawn down. His cold blue eyes widened, and the large nostrils of his pitted Bourbon nose spread angrily.
”Moffat, listen here!” he boomed at last. ”You, too, Bolar.”
”Yes, be sure to listen, Bolar,” laughed Jessamy. ”But if you don't wish to, go down into the canon of the American.”
”'Adam Selden, Esquire,'” Selden boomed on, unheeding the girl's bantering. ”'Poison Oak Ranch, Halfmoon Flat, Californy:'
”'My dear Mr. Selden.' Get that, Moffat! 'My dear Mr. Selden!' Say, who's that Ike think he's writin' to? His gal? Huh! 'My _dear_ Mr.
Selden:'
”'I rode to the county seat on Wednesday, this week, and looked over the records in the office of the recorder of deeds. I found that you are entirely mistaken in the matter that you brought to my attention on Tuesday. The forty acres known as the Old Ivison Place are recorded in my name, the date of the recording being January fifth, this year. It appears that Nancy Fleet sold the place years ago to my father, but that the transfer was not placed on record until the date I have mentioned.'
”'With kindest regards,'
”'Yours sincerely, Oliver Drew.'”
Selden came to an ominous pause and glared about the table. ”Writ with a typewriter, all but his name,” he announced impressively. ”And he's a liar by the clock!”
Jessamy threw back her head in that whole-souled laughter that made every one who heard her laugh.
”He's crazy,” complacently mumbled Bolar, still at war on the biscuits.
”Jess'my”--Selden's eyes were fixed sternly on his step-daughter--”What're ye laughin' at?”
”At humanity's infinite variety,” answered Jessamy.
”Does that mean me?”
”Me, too, Pete!” she rippled.
”Looky-here”--he leaned toward her--”there's some funny business goin'
on 'round here. Two times ye been seen ridin' with that new fella down on the Old Ivison Place.”
”Two times is right,” she slangily agreed.