Something about the old Padres toiling through the sand
just before the Angelus; or as far back as Sir Francis Drake's time,
and have a runaway boat's crew, coming ashore to look for gold that the
Mexicans had talked of. Lord! that's easy enough! I tell you what, Loo,
it's worth living up here just for the inspiration." Even while boyishly
exhaling this enthusiasm he was also divesting himself of certain
bundles whose contents seemed to imply that he had brought his
dinner with him,--the youthful Mrs. Harcourt setting the table in a
perfunctory, listless way that contrasted oddly with her husband's
cheerful energy.
"You haven't heard of any regular situation yet?" she asked
abstractedly.
"No,--not exactly," he replied. "But [buoyantly] it's a great deal
better for me not to take anything in a hurry and tie myself to any
particular line. Now, I'm quite free."
"And I suppose you haven't seen that Mr. Fletcher again?" she continued.
"No. He only wanted to know something about me. That's the way with them
all, Loo. Whenever I apply for work anywhere it's always: 'So you're
Dan'l Harcourt's son, eh? Quarreled with the old man? Bad job; better
make it up! You'll make more stickin' to him. He's worth millions!'
Everybody seems to think everything of HIM, as if I had no individuality
beyond that, I've a good mind to change my name."
"And pray what would mine be then?"
There was so much irritation in her voice that he drew nearer her and
gently put his arm around her waist.
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