Part 13 (1/2)
”An unprejudiced outsideh might say that the 'horrid men with their guns' were on top of that embankment, my deah--ten to ouh one,” he remarked.
”But I should think we might win in some other way,” Virginia persisted undauntedly.
Mr. Darrah pushed his plate aside and cleared his throat.
”For business reasons which you--ah--wouldn't undehstand, we can't let the Utah finish this railroad of theirs into Carbonate this winteh.”
”So much I have inferred. But Mr. Winton seems to be very determined.”
”Mmph! I wish Mr. Callowell had favehed us with some one else--any one else. That young fellow is a bawn fighteh, my deah.”
Virginia had a bright idea, and she advanced it without examining too closely into its ethical part.
”Mr. Winton is working for wages, isn't he?” she asked.
”Of cou'se; big money, at that. His sawt come high.”
”Well, why can't you hire him away from the other people? Mr.
Callowell might not be so fortunate next time.”
The Rajah sat back in his chair and regarded her thoughtfully.
”What is it?” she asked.
”Nothing my deah--nothing at all. I was just wondering how a woman's--ah--sense of propo'tion was put togetheh. But your plan has merit. Do I understand that you will faveh me with your help?”
”Why, ye-es, certainly, if I can,” she a.s.sented, not without dubiety.
”That is, I'll be nice to Mr. Winton.”
”That is precisely what I mean, my deah. We'll begin by having him heah to dinneh this evening, him and the otheh young man--what's his name?--Adams.”
And the upshot of the matter was a dainty note which found its way by the hands of the private-car porter to Winton, laboring manfully at his task of repairing the landslide damages.
”Mr. Somerville Darrah's compliments to Mr. John Winton and Mr. Morton P. Adams, and he will be pleased if they will dine with the party in the car Rosemary at seven o'clock.
”Informal.
”Wednesday, December the Ninth.”
VIII. THE GREEKS BRINGING GIFTS
Adams said ”By Jove!” in his most cynical drawl when Winton gave him the dinner-bidding to read: then he laughed.
Winton recovered the dainty note, folding it carefully and putting it in his pocket. The handwriting was the same as that of the telegram abstracted from Operator Carter's sending-book.
”I don't see anything to laugh at,” he objected.
”No? First the Rajah sends the sheriff's posse packing without striking a blow, and now he invites us to dinner.”