TIM SULLIVAN BREAKS A CONTRACT
_25E2_2580_259CAnd that will be the end of it,_25E2_2580_259D said Tim Sullivan, finality in his ton0B8CA44483
“Boy!” said Joan.
_25E2_2580_259CIn experience he_25E2_2580_2599s no lad, and I_25E2_2580_2599m glad you_25E2_2580_25903C93CD472
_25E2_2580_259COh, they_25E2_2580_2599ll get it, all right._25E2_2580_259D
Tim had arrived that morning from a near-by camp as Joan was about to set out for Dad Frazer’s. From his way of plunging abruptly into this matter, which he never had discussed with her before, and his sharpness and apparent displeasure with her, Joan knew that he had seen Reid overnight. They were beside the sheep-wagon, to a wheel of which Joan’s horse was tied, all saddled and ready to mount. The sun was already high, for Joan had helped Charley range the flock out for its day’s grazing, and had put all things to rights in the camp, anxious as her mind was over Mackenzie’s state.
_25E2_2580_259CI_25E2_2580_2599ll not have you treat the lad like a beggar come to ask of you, Joan;048A17845D
_25E2_2580_259CHe_25E2_2580_2599s a thousand years older than I am; he knows things that you never heard of._25E2_2580_259D
_25E2_2580_259CSomebody_25E2_2580_2599s been whisperin_25E2_2580_2599 slanders of him in your ear. H0BE414A4EC
_25E2_2580_259CI wouldn_25E2_2580_2599t have him if he brought his million in a wheelbarrow and dumped it at my feet._25E2_2580_259D
_25E2_2580_259CIt_25E2_2580_2599s not a million, as I hear it,_25E2_2580_259D Tim corrected, mildly, even a bit thoughtfully, _25E2_2580_259Cnot more nor a half._25E2_2580_259D
“Then he’s only half as desirable,” smiled Joan, the little gleam of humor striking into her gloomy hour like a sudden ray of sun.
_25E2_2580_259CYou_25E2_2580_2599d run sheep till you was bent and gray, and the rheumatiz_25E2_25800CC8584445
Joan’s hat hung on the saddle-horn, the morning wind was trifling with light breath in her soft, wave-rippled hair. Her brilliant necktie had been put aside for one of narrower span and more sober hue, a blue with white dots. The free ends of it blew round to her shoulder, where they lay a moment before fluttering off to brush her cheek, as if to draw by this slight friction some of the color back into it that this troubled interview had drained away.
She stood with her head high, her chin lifted, determination in her eyes. Thorned shrubs and stones had left their marks on her strong boots, the little teeth of the range had frayed the hem of her short cloth skirt, but she was as fresh to see as a morning-glory in the sun. Defiance outweighed the old cast of melancholy that clouded her eyes; her lips were fixed in an expression which was denial in itself as she stood looking into the wind, her little brown hands clenched at her sides.