Part 46 (2/2)
”I just walked up after supper to have a talk with an old mate.”
”Who is he?” Boyd glanced suspiciously at La.r.s.en's companion.
”He's Mr. Marsh's foreman.”
”Emerson spoke out bluntly: ”See here. I don't like this. These people have caused me a lot of trouble already, and I don't want my men hanging around here.”
”Oh, that's all right,” said La.r.s.en, carelessly. ”Him and me used to fish together.” And as if this were a sufficient explanation, he turned back to his conversation, leaving Emerson to proceed on his way, vaguely displeased at the episode, yet reflecting that heretofore he had never had occasion to doubt La.r.s.en's loyalty.
He found Cherry at home, and, flinging himself into one of her easy- chairs, relieved his mind of the day's occurrences.
”Marsh is building those traps purely out of spite,” she declared, indignantly, when he had finished. ”He doesn't need any more fish--he has plenty of traps farther up the river.”
”To be sure! It looks as if we might have to depend upon the gill- netters.”
”We will know before long. If the fish strike in where George expects, Marsh will be out a pretty penny.”
”And if they don't strike in where George expects, we will be out all the expense of building that trap.”
”Exactly! It's a fascinating business, isn't it? It's a business in which the unexpected is forever happening. But the stakes are high and--I know you will succeed.”
Boyd smiled at her comforting a.s.surance, her belief in him was always stimulating.
”By-the-way,” she continued, ”have you heard the historic story about the pink salmon?”
He shook his head.
”Well, there was a certain shrewd old cannery-man in Was.h.i.+ngton State whose catch consisted almost wholly of pink fish. As you know, that variety does not bring as high a price as red salmon, like these. Well, finding that he could not sell his catch, owing to the popular prejudice about color, this man printed a lot of striking can-labels, which read, 'Best Grade Pink Salmon, Warranted not to Turn Red in the Can.' They tell me it worked like a charm.”
”No wonder!” Boyd laughed, beginning to feel the tension of his nerves relax at the restfulness of her influence. As usual, he fell at once into the mood she desired for him. He saw that her brows were furrowed and her rosy lips drawn into an unconscious pout as she said, more to herself than to him:
”I wish I were a man. I'd like to engage in a business of this sort, something that would require ingenuity and daring. I'd like to handle big affairs.”
”It seems to me that you are in a business of that sort. You are one of us.”
”Oh, but you and George are doing it all.”
”There is your copper-mine. You surely handled that very cleverly.”
Cherry's expression altered, and she shot a quick glance at him as he went on:
”How is it coming along, by-the-way? I haven't heard you mention it lately?”
”Very well, I believe. The men were down the other day, and told me it was a big thing.”
”I'm delighted. How does it seem, to be rich?”
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