"My wife's face simply turns peachy when she tans. I look like an
Indian," observed Burns, bestowing certain professional luggage where it
would be most out of the way.
"That's it; you've said it. Great Indian Chief go make big medicine for
sick squaw; take along whole wigwam; wigwam tickled to death to go!" And
King settled himself with an air of complete satisfaction.
He had had no word from Anne Linton for nearly two months, and was as
restless as a young man may well be when his affairs do not go to please
him. She had kept her promise and had written from time to time, but
though her letters were the most interesting human documents King had
ever dreamed a woman could write, they were, from the point of view of
the suitor, extremely unsatisfying. As she had agreed, she had given him
with each letter an address to which he might send an immediate reply,
and he had made the most of each such opportunity; but, since it takes
two to seal a bargain, he had not been able to feel his cause much
advanced by all his efforts. He had welcomed this chance to accompany
Burns as a diversion from his restless thoughts, for a few days'
interval in his engineering plans, caused by a delay in the arrival of
certain necessary material, was making him wild with eagerness for
something--anything--to happen.
Two hundred miles in a high-powered car over finely macadamized roads
are more quickly and comfortably covered in these days than a
thirty-mile drive behind horses over such country highways as existed a
decade ago.
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