A score of men would have liked to marry Mrs. Mallory.
She had all the sophisticated graces of life and much of the natural
charm of an unusually attractive personality. He had only to speak the
word to win her, and his fancy had flown in pursuit of a little Puritan
with no knowledge of the world.
In front of the Seattle & Kusiak Emporium the Scotchman stopped. A
little man who had his back to him was bargaining for a team of huskies.
The man turned, and Macdonald recognized him.
"Hello, Gid. Aren't you off your usual beat a bit?" he asked.
The little miner looked him over impudently. "Well--well! If it ain't
the Big Mogul himself--and wantin' to know if I've got permission to
travel off the reservation."
Macdonald laughed tolerantly. He had that large poise which is not
disturbed by the sand stings of life.
"I reckon you travel where you want to, Gid,--same as I do."
"Maybeso. I shouldn't wonder if you'd find out quite soon enough what
I'm doing here. You never can tell," the old man retorted with a manner
that concealed volumes.
Those who were present remembered the words and in the light of what
took place later thought them significant.
"Anyhow, it is quite a social event for Kusiak," Macdonald suggested
with a smile of irony.
Pages:
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236