ound 'em. Going to take some
ladies down in the car to-morrow."

Giddy scowled. He did not dispute the propriety of Ray's measures, if
there were to be ladies on board, but he felt injured. "I suppose you'll
expect me to behave like a Y.M.C.A. secretary," he growled. "I can't do
my work and serve tea at the same time."

"No need to have a tea-party," said Ray with determined cheerfulness.
"Mrs. Kronborg will bring the lunch, and it will be a darned good one."

Giddy lounged against the car, holding his cigar between two thick
fingers. "Then I guess she'll get it," he observed knowingly. "I don't
think your musical friend is much on the grub-box. Has to keep her hands
white to tickle the ivories." Giddy had nothing against Thea, but he
felt cantankerous and wanted to get a rise out of Kennedy.

"Every man to his own job," Ray replied agreeably, pulling his white
shirt on over his head.

Giddy emitted smoke disdainfully. "I suppose so. The man that gets her
will have to wear an apron and bake the pancakes. Well, some men like to
mess about the kitchen." He paused, but Ray was intent on getting into
his clothes as quickly as possible. Giddy thought he could go a little
further. "Of course, I don't dispute your right to haul women in this
car if you want to; but personally, so far as I'm concerned, I'd a good
deal rather drink a can of tomatoes and do without the women AND their
lunch. I was never much enslaved to hard-boiled eggs, anyhow."

"You'll eat 'em to-morrow, all the same." Ray's tone had a steely
glitter as he jumped out of the car, and Giddy stood aside to let him
pass. He knew that Kennedy's next reply would be delivered by hand. He
had once seen Ray beat up a nasty fellow for insulting a Mexican woman
who helped about the grub-car in the work train, and his fists had
worked like two steel hammers. Giddy wasn't looking for trouble.

At eight o'clock the next morning Ray greeted his ladies and helped them
into the car. Giddy had put on a clean shirt and yellow pig-skin gloves
and was whistling his best. He considered Kennedy a fluke as a ladies'
man, and if there was to be a party, the honors had to be done by some
one who wasn't a blacksmith at small-talk. Giddy had, as Ray
sarcastically admitted, "a local reputation as a jollier," and he was
fluent in gallant speeches of a not too-veiled nature. He insisted that
Thea should take his seat in the cupola, opposite Ray's, where she could
look out over the co