but we aim to treat strangers right. Ain't that so, Poth?"
"Sure," with a heartiness which seemed somewhat forced.
As he sprang into the cart and lifted the lines over the backs of the dripping horses, he turned and asked:
"You'll be at the show to-night, I suppose?"
"Mrs. Poth has invited me." Something in his eyes, his voice, his manner subtly conveyed the impression that his appearance there was contingent upon her own.
Nan was not sure that she liked Mr. "Hank" Spiser, boss of the L. X. outfit. What was it he disseminated?—an impression of insincerity beneath his bluff hospitality, of an indefinable disrespect disguised by pretentious bows?
She, however, had not a strong belief in the theory of "first impressions" and dismissed her unfavorable opinion as hasty, but of one thing she was sure, and that was that her interest in the handsome and picturesque foreman of the L. X. outfit was far greater than in its more important manager.
