Part 6 (1/2)
Cherry Malotte had experienced a new sensation, and she didn't like it.
She vowed angrily that she disliked men who looked past her; indeed, she could not recall any other who had ever done so. Her chief concern had always been to check their ardor. She resolved viciously that before she was through with this young man he would make her a less listless adieu.
She a.s.sured herself that he was a selfish, sullen boor, who needed to be taught a lesson in manners for his own good if for nothing else; that a woman's curiosity had aught to do with her exasperation she would have denied. She abhorred curiosity. As a matter of fact, she told herself that he did not interest her in the least, except as a discourteous fellow who ought to be shocked into a consciousness of his bad manners, and therefore the moment the two men were well out of the room she darted to the table, s.n.a.t.c.hed up the magazine, and skimmed through it feverishly. Ah! here was the place!
A woman's face with some meaningless name beneath filled each page. Along the top ran the heading, ”Famous American Beauties.” So it was a woman!
She skipped backward and forward among the pages for further possible enlightenment, but there was no article accompanying the pictures. It was merely an ill.u.s.trated section devoted to the photographs of prominent actresses and society women, most of whom she had never heard of, though here and there she saw a name that was familiar. In the centre was that tantalizingly clean-cut edge which had subtracted a face from the gallery --a face which she wanted very much to see. She paused and racked her brain, her brows furrowed with the effort at recollection, but she had only glanced at the pages when the magazine came, and had paid no attention to this part of it. Her anger at her failure to recall this particular face aroused her to the fact that she was acting very foolishly, at which she laughed aloud.
”Well, what of it?” she demanded of the empty room. ”He's in love with some society ninny, and I don't care what she looks like.” She shrugged her shoulders carelessly; then, in a sudden access of fury, she flung the mutilated magazine viciously into a far corner of the room.
The travellers slept late on the following morning, for the weariness of weeks was upon them, and the little bunk-room they occupied adjoined the main building and was dark. When they came forth they found Chakawana in the store, and a few moments later were called to breakfast.
”Where is your mistress?” inquired Boyd.
”She go see my sick broder,” said the Indian girl, recalling Cherry's mention of the child ill with measles. ”She all the time give medicine to Aleut babies,” Chakawana continued. ”All the time give, give, give something. Indian people love her.”
”She's sort of a Lady Bountiful to these b.u.ms,” remarked Fraser.
”Does she let them trade in yonder?” Boyd asked, indicating the store.
”Oh yes! Everything cheap to Indian people. Indian got no money, all the same.” Then, as if realizing that her hasty tongue had betrayed some secret of moment, the Aleut girl paused, and, eying them sharply, demanded, ”What for you ask?”
”No reason in particular.”
”What for you ask?” she insisted. ”Maybe you b'long Company, eh?” Emerson laughed, but she was not to be put off easily, and, with characteristic guile, announced boldly: ”I lie to you. She no trade with Aleut people.
No; Chakawana lie!”
”She's afraid we'll tell this fellow Marsh,” Fraser remarked to Emerson; then, as if that name had some powerful effect upon their informant, Chakawana advanced to the table, and, leaning over it, said:
”You know Willis Marsh?” Her pretty wooden face held a mingled expression of fear, malice, and curiosity.
”Ouch!” said Fraser, shoving back from his plate. ”Don't look at me like that before I've had my coffee.”
”Maybe you know him in San Flancisco, eh?”
”No, no! We never heard of him until last night.”
”I guess you lie!” She smiled at them wheedlingly, but Boyd rea.s.sured her.
”No! We don't know him at all.”
”Then what for you speak his name?”
”Miss Malotte told us about him at dinner.”
”Oh!”
”By-the-way, what kind of a looking feller is he?” asked Fraser.
”He's fine, han'some man,” said Chakawana. ”Nice fat man. Him got hair like--like fire.”