When they reached the buggy he lifted her into it carefully,--and
perpendicularly, it struck her afterwards, very much as if she had been
a transplanted sapling with bared and sensitive roots,--and then gravely
took his place beside her.
"Bein' in the timber trade myself, ma'am," he said, gathering up the
reins, "I chanced to sight these woods, and took a look around. My name
is Bowers, of Mendocino; I reckon there ain't much that grows in the
way o' standin' timber on the Pacific Slope that I don't know and can't
locate, though I DO say it. I've got ez big a mill, and ez big a run in
my district, ez there is anywhere. Ef you're ever up my way, you ask for
Bowers--Jim Bowers--and that's ME."
There is probably nothing more conducive to conversation between
strangers than a wholesome and early recognition of each other's
foibles. Mr. Bowers, believing his chance acquaintance a superior woman,
naively spoke of himself in a way that he hoped would reassure her
that she was not compromising herself in accepting his civility, and so
satisfy what must be her inevitable pride.
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