CHAPTER XII
Bob saw as he turned into the Bungalow Court at El Centro a youngishwoman in white sitting on the second porch. In spite of the absence ofthe weeds he recognized her as the widow who had come down the streetthat other morning to meet Jim Crill. This, then, was Crill's place.Evidently the twelve months of bereavement had elapsed, and Mrs.Barnett, having done her full duty, felt that the ghost of her departedcould no longer have any just complaints if she wore a little white ofher own.
Bob had come to see Crill. Since that evening with Imogene Chandler hehad worried a good deal about their being without money. He had triedto get the ginning company that had advanced his own funds to make thema loan. But everybody had grown wary and quit lending across the line.Bob as a last resort had come up to see if Crill could be induced tohelp.
"Good morning." Rogeen lifted his straw hat as he stood on the firststep of the porch, and smiled. "Is Mr. Crill at home?"
"No." Mrs. Barnett had nodded rather stiffly in response to hisgreeting, and lifted her eyes questioningly. She was waiting forsomeone else, and hence felt no cordiality for this stranger, whom shedimly seemed to remember.
"When will he be in?" The young man was obviously disappointed, and hereally was good to look at.
"I don't know exactly." Mrs. Barnett relented slightly, having glanceddown the road to be sure another machine was not coming. "But as Iattend to much of his business, perhaps if you will tell me what it isyou want I can arrange it for you. Won't you come up and have a chair?"
Bob accepted the invitation, not that he intended to mention hisbusiness to her, but he had a notion that Jim Crill was due to arriveabout lunch time.
"Are you from the East?" That was Mrs. Barnett's idea of tactfulflattery. She asked it of all callers.
"Yes."
"What part, may I ask?"
"All parts," he smiled, "east of here and west of the Mississippi."
"It is so different here," Mrs. Barnett lifted her brows and raised hereyes as though she were singing "The Lost Chord," "from what I am usedto."
"Yes," assented Bob, "it is different from what I am used to. That iswhy I like it."
"Oh, do you?" Shocked disappointment in her tone implied that it wastoo bad he was not a kindred spirit. "I find everything so crude; andsuch loose standards here." A regretful shake of the head. "The womenespecially"--she thought of her tact again--"seem to have forgotten allthe formalities and nice conventions of good society--if they everknew. I suppose most of them were hired girls and clerks before theywere married."
Reedy Jenkins makes a proposition to Imogene.]
Bob made no comment. He did not know much about "nice formalities,"but it had struck him that the women of Imperial Valley were uncommonlygood, friendly human beings, and he had seen a number of collegediplomas scattered round the valley.
"I heard of a woman recently," Mrs. Barnett went on, "who in the Eastwas in college circles; now she's living in a hut. Think of it, a hutover on the other side among the Chinese and Mexicans! The only womanthere, and practically alone. It seems perfectly incredible! I don'tsee how any decent woman could do a thing like that. Why, I'd ratherwork in somebody's kitchen. There, at least, one could be respectable."
Bob got up.
"I guess I'll not wait longer for Mr. Crill," he said, and he went downthe steps, walking with rapid aversion. If Jim Crill left his businessto this female, he didn't want any of his money for the Chandlers.
The ginning company had agreed to lend Bob up to $1,500 on the crop,advancing it along as he needed it. He was renting his teams, and hadbought very little machinery, so he had managed to use less than hisestimate. On his way back to the ranch he stopped at the company'soffice in Calexico, and drew two hundred dollars more on the loan.
A few days later Rogeen, watching his opportunity, saw Chandler ridingalone toward town, and went out to the road and stopped him. Aftersome roundabout conversation Bob remarked:
"By the way, a friend of mine has a little money he wants to lend tocotton growers at 10 per cent. Do you suppose you would be able to usea couple of hundreds of it?"
"Ahem!" The ex-professor ran a bony hand over a lean chin. "It isextremely probable, young man, extremely probable. I am very muchinclined to think that I can--that is, provided he would esteem mypersonal signature to a promissory note sufficient guarantee for thepayment of the indebtedness."
"That will be entirely sufficient." Bob smiled reassuringly, andpretended to write out--it was already prepared--a note. Chandlersigned, and Bob gave him two hundred dollars in currency.
The next evening when Bob returned from the field he found a sealedenvelope on the little board table in his shack. It contained $100 incurrency and a note which read:
You can't afford this loan; but we need the money so darned bad I'mgoing to split it with you. I like the fiddle better than any musicalinstrument that is made.
I. C.
Toward the last of June old cotton growers told Bob that his field wassure to go a bale and a quarter an acre, and Chandler's was about asgood.
On the twenty-sixth of June a Mexican officer came to the ranch andarrested Rogeen's Chinese cook and one of his field hands. Bob offeredbail, but it was refused. The day following the remaining Chinaman wasarrested.
Bob got other hands, but on July first all three of these were arrested.
"I see," Bob said to himself, thinking it over that evening, "this isthe first of Jenkins' schemes. They are going to make Chinamen afraidto work for me. Well, Noah and I can manage until I can hire someAmericans."
At nine o'clock it was yet too hot to sleep, and Bob too restless tosit still. He got up and started out to walk. Without any definiteintention he turned down the road south. He had gone about half a mileand thought of turning back when he saw something in the roadahead--something white. It was a woman, and she was running toward him.