The girl stood near him and regarded him with interest. He looked up when he had the opportunity and found her eyes studying him. She was entirely frank in her gaze. There was nothing in her eyes except the earnestness of a scrutiny which was satisfying curiosity.
When the work was done the owner offered money.
“Well, have a drink?” invited the debtor.
The autoist emptied his cigar-case into his hand and offered the cigars to Farr, who had just tugged on his coat.
It was not declination with humility; the manner of the man of the road contained a hint that anybody who drank or smoked was no better than he should be. The girl studied him with renewed interest.
“Don't stand there and try to put anything over on me,” advised the man in gray, showing resentment. “What can I do for you?”
“You might thank the man, Richard,” declared the girl, tartly. She turned to Farr.
“He seems to have forgotten 'thank you' as he forgot 'please.' May I make amends? We thank you!”
“And now I am in your debt,” said the rover. He bowed and walked on.
When the car passed him the girl turned and gave him a long look. He waved his hand. The dust-cloud closed in between them.
“Kat Kilgour! That's a tramp! I'm amazed!” said the elder woman, observing the look and the salute.
“Yes, this world is full of surprises,” agreed the girl, sweetly.
“But your own eyes told you that he was a tramp.”
“There isn't any doubt of it, is there, if you used your eyes?” demanded their escort.
“We'll consider that the eyes have it--and let the matter drop,” said the girl--and her tone was not sweet.
The man of the keen brown eyes and the faded garb fared on.
He plucked a rose from a wayside bush and carried the flower in his hand.
“Your sister just passed this way,” he informed the rose in whimsical fashion. “I don't suppose you and I will ever catch up with her. I go very slowly, but you may journey along with me.”
The wayfarer who called himself Farr came down the long hill and turned the corner of the highway where the alders crowded to the banks of the narrow brook; they whispered to one another as the breeze fluttered their leaves. He drank there, bending and scooping the water in his palm. He bathed the rose and stroked its wilted petals.