Part 4 (1/2)

”From what I know of my friend,” answered the professor slowly, ”I think he would not object in the slightest.”

Bartlett muttered something to himself, and seemed to change his mind about galloping his horses.

Meanwhile, Yates, as has been said, took off his hat with great politeness to the fair pedestrian, and as he did so he noticed, with a thrill of admiration, that she was very handsome. Yates always had an eye for the beautiful.

”Our conveyance,” he began, ”is not as comfortable as it might be, yet I shall be very happy if you will accept its hospitalities.”

The young woman flashed a brief glance at him from her dark eyes, and for a moment Yates feared that his language had been rather too choice for her rural understanding, but before he could amend his phrase she answered briefly:

”Thank you. I prefer to walk.”

”Well, I don't know that I blame you. May I ask if you have come all the way from the village?”

”Yes.”

”That is a long distance, and you must be very tired.” There was no reply; so Yates continued. ”At least, I thought it a long distance; but perhaps that was because I was riding on Bartlett's hay rack. There is no 'downy bed of ease' about his vehicle.”

As he spoke of the wagon he looked at it, and, striding forward to its side, said in a husky whisper to the professor:

”Say, Stilly, cover up that jug with a flap of the tent.”

”Cover it up yourself,” briefly replied the other; ”it isn't mine.”

Yates reached across and, in a sort of accidental way, threw the flap of the tent over the too conspicuous jar. As an excuse for his action he took up his walking cane and turned toward his new acquaintance. He was flattered to see that she was loitering some distance behind the wagon, and he speedily rejoined her. The girl, looking straight ahead, now quickened her pace, and rapidly shortened the distance between herself and the vehicle. Yates, with the quickness characteristic of him, made up his mind that this was a case of country diffidence, which was best to be met by the bringing down of his conversation to the level of his hearer's intelligence.

”Have you been marketing?” he asked.

”Yes.”

”b.u.t.ter and eggs, and that sort of thing?”

”We are farmers,” she answered, ”and we sell b.u.t.ter and eggs”--a pause--”and that sort of thing.”

Yates laughed in his light and cheery way. As he twirled his cane he looked at his pretty companion. She was gazing anxiously ahead toward a turn in the road. Her comely face was slightly flushed, doubtless with the exercise of walking.

”Now, in my country,” continued the New Yorker, ”we idolize our women.

Pretty girls don't tramp miles to market with b.u.t.ter and eggs.”

”Aren't the girls pretty--in your country?”

Yates made a mental note that there was not as much rurality about this girl as he had thought at first. There was a piquancy about the conversation which he liked. That she shared his enjoyment was doubtful, for a slight line of resentment was noticeable on her smooth brow.

”You bet they're pretty! I think all American girls are pretty. It seems their birthright. When I say American, I mean the whole continent, of course. I'm from the States myself--from New York.” He gave an extra twirl to his cane as he said this, and bore himself with that air of conscious superiority which naturally pertains to a citizen of the metropolis. ”But over in the States we think the men should do all the work, and that the women should--well, spend the money. I must do our ladies the justice to say that they attend strictly to their share of the arrangement.”

”It should be a delightful country to live in--for the women.”

”They all say so. We used to have an adage to the effect that America was paradise for women, purgatory for men, and--well, an entirely different sort of place for oxen.”

There was no doubt that Yates had a way of getting along with people.

As he looked at his companion he was gratified to note just the faintest suspicion of a smile hovering about her lips. Before she could answer, if she had intended to do so, there was a quick clatter of hoofs on the hard road ahead, and next instant an elegant buggy, whose slender jet-black polished spokes flashed and twinkled in the sunlight, came das.h.i.+ng past the wagon. On seeing the two walking together the driver hauled up his team with a suddenness that was evidently not relished by the spirited dappled span he drove.