WHEREIN "RED" REVEALS HIS HEART, AND MRS. QUINN GIVES HIM GOOD COFFEE AND
GOOD ADVICE
"Red" Giddings had been on the ranch with Gilbert since the very beginning.
He came from the North with the young man, willing to stake all on this one
venture. Like young Jones, he was not afraid. He was an efficient,
well-set-up young fellow, with three consuming passions: Arizona, his
harmonica, and Angela Hardy. The first saw a lot of "Red"; the second
touched his lips frequently; but as for Angela--well, perhaps the poor boy
kissed his harmonica so often in order to forget her lips. But if his own
music charmed "Red," it failed to have that effect upon
others--particularly Uncle Henry, who went into a rage whenever he heard
the detested instrument. "Red's" music had no charms to soothe the savage
breast of Henry Smith.
But another did like it. Angela once told "Red" in the moonlight--and her
father had never forgiven her for her foolishness--that his harmonica never
wearied her. That was enough for "Red." Once every day he managed to find
some excuse to get over to the Hardy ranch; and always his beloved
instrument went along with him in his pocket, and he would approach his
lady love's castle like the troubadours of old, his foot tapping on the
path while his harmonica, in the place of a lute, made soft sounds.
Instantly Angela would poke her pretty head from the window, and pretend
that she was a princess in distress, and he her knight who had come to
release her from her prison.
Moreover, the Hardys had a wonderful cook--a woman they had brought down
from Phoenix. Instead of the firecracker stuff that Uncle Henry so
bitterly complained of, she, being an Irish woman, could concoct a stew
that would make one's hair curl; and her pastry was succulent and sweet,
and literally melted in the mouth. Her coffee--ah! who could make better
coffee? And as the meals at the Jones ranch were served sporadically, and
"Red" was as healthy as a peasant and had never known the time when he
couldn't tuck away some dainty from the kitchen he ingratiated himself
with Mrs. Quinn, quite won her heart, too, with his music, and was even
known to desert his work for the boon of a bit of pie.
When she was suffering from the heat of the stove, and was ready to throw
up her job and return to the bright lights of Phoenix, "Red" invariably
came around to the door with music on his lips, his shock of hair blown by
the soft wind, looking so boyish that she had to succumb to him, boil
another pot of coffee, and lay a place for him at the corner of the table.
"Be off wid yez!" she always began by saying. But the insinuating harmonica
was his only reply; and she ended by begging him to come in and play for
her while she messed with the pots and pans, and maybe found some batter
for a plate of griddle cakes.
On this particular morning, work being useless since things were going so
badly for Jones, "Red" slipped up the road and reached the kitchen door
just as Mrs. Quinn was washing up.
"Oh, so there ye be, me boy!" was her motherly greeting. "Come in, an'
maybe--who knows?--I'll find a cup o' coffee fer ye, though I'm not
thinkin' ye deserve it."
"Red" loved the odors from this fragrant kitchen. The stove always
gleamed, and when Mrs. Quinn was in good humor she was like a great light
moving here and there, dispensing warmth also. She was a monstrous woman;
but like many large people, she got about easily and swiftly. Her capable
hands were forever fluttering in the flour-barrel or over the dough-board,
and her ruddy cheeks and honest gray eyes spoke of health and good nature.
She adored Angela; and she really liked "Red" tremendously, and hoped in
the end he would win the difficult and fickle girl. But, like Angela, she
had moment when she could have shaken him. For "Red" didn't fight hard
enough for what he wanted. He was naïve to the point of stupidity at times;
and women like aggressive men--even men who are capable of flogging them
into submission, deny it as they will. "Red" was gentle and mild, though
thoroughly manly. Both Angela and Mrs. Quinn would have liked to see him
live up to his fiery hair.
He beamed now at the genial cook's greeting, and took out his harmonica,
running over the full scale as a suitable answer.
"Here, sit ye down, 'Red,'" Mrs. Quinn ordered. "But first see that yer
feet is wiped off. I don't want to see no dirt along me clean floor."
She was busy with a place for him near the window, happy, as most women
are, to serve a handsome young chap, and secretly wishing in her heart that
she had him for a son.
The coffee was miraculously brought, and soon the griddle-cakes, gloriously
brown, and deftly turned by Mrs. Quinn, were in front of him.
"Gee! you make a feller happy, Mrs. Quinn!" said the appreciative "Red,"
sitting down, and getting busy, "Won't you come to Bisbee with Angela an'
me the next time we go to the movies?"
She gave him a half-scornful look. "An' what would yez want with an old
woman like meself taggin' along with yez now?" Mrs. Quinn exclaimed, her
arms akimbo. "Ain't ye happy enough with yer Angela, an' no fat funeral
like me occupyin' too much room in the Ford? Go along, me lad, an' have a
good time with yer colleen! She'd like it better alone with ye, too--be
sure o' that!"
"Of course I would!"
They hadn't seen Angela come in. She stood in the doorway like a vision--a
morning-glory from which the freshness of the early hours never seemed to
depart.
"Oh!" poor "Red" gasped, and leaped to his feet. "Would you, Angela?" He
looked at her, drank her beauty in, as though she were the only creature on
this earth.
"Certainly!" said Angela, coming over to him. "You're a boob, 'Red,' and if
you don't look out, there's a fellow over at Bisbee who--"
"Oh!" the anguished "Red" managed to get out. "_Is_ there, Angy?"
There was--of course there was--and there wasn't. Angela knew just how far
to go. Her black eyes danced. "Red" sat down again, after she had shoved
him back to his late breakfast. Mrs. Quinn, amused, was busy with some more
cakes, though "Red" had scarcely had time to begin the first batch. But she
knew his capacity, and she felt he would need sustaining food after
Angela's last remark.
"You don't always wave to me like you did the other day when I went by,"
said "Red," his lips in Mrs. Quinn's golden coffee.
"Why should I?" said Angela. "You don't always have such swell-looking
folks with you!"
"Oh, so that's why you waved!" disappointment in his tone.
"Maybe." She was teasing him, but he didn't know it. "Who were they?"
"A Mr. and Mrs. Pell, from New York. They're lookin' over property round
here.... But I don't care, Angy. Even if I had to go to Bisbee four times a
day and get some good-lookin' folks to bring down the road, I'd do it if
you'd wave to me! Oh, why can't you always be nice to me?"
"If I was always nice to you, you wouldn't know how lucky you are!" she
countered. "It's good for you to have your bad days--with me."
"Well, maybe you're right. You're 'most always right; but gosh! a feller
does like a little encouragement once in a while. You can be so cruel,
Angy!"
"Can I? If you think not waving to you is cruelty, you ought to see some of
my other forms of torture."
"Ugh! I hope I never do!" He drank again from the cup.
"Say," Angela said, watching him, "you seem to like that coffee a lot more
than you like me! That brunette in the cup is my rival!"
He looked at her in blank amazement. He hadn't much sense of humor. He was
as literal-minded as a child. "You certainly are the funniest girl, Angy!"
he said, "How could coffee be a girl's rival?"
"Easier than a fellow in Bisbee--maybe. Better look out, 'Red,' or I'll sue
Mrs. Quinn for alienation of affections!"
"Oh, you wouldn't do that!" said the kindly, honest "Red."
"What a stupid you are, to be sure!" said Angela, and laughed. "There--eat
these hot cakes--though how you can on this beastly warm morning is more
than I can see--and then play me some tunes. I'm dying to hear some music.
This afternoon Dad says he's going over to your ranch. I don't know what
for, do you? I do wish people didn't have to lose their property. Why are
mortgages, anyhow?"
"Blamed if _I_ know, Angy! Thanks, Mrs. Quinn."
"Sure, an' you're welcome, me boy." Angela had gone out on the step. The
old Irishwoman saw her chance. "For the love o' Mike, 'Red,' woo her, an'
woo her hard! There _is_ a feller in Bisbee. She's after lovin' ye, but
you're too slow--slower'n the molasses I just poured on yer griddle-cakes
fer ye!"
"I'll try," said the accommodating "Red." "You're a good friend, Mrs.
Quinn. I won't forget you when I own this place!"
"Be off, now! Ye've got some travelin' to do before ye're able to win
Angela. Then ye can think of buyin' a ranch."
She literally pushed him from her domain; and he found himself by Angela's
side out of doors.
The bright sunlight touched her hair, and they went over to a pergola she
had had built, covered with vines. A little fountain tinkled near it, and
the heat of the day would not bother them here.
For three delirious hours, "Red" was alone with Angela. One moment she
pouted, the next she let him touch her hand.
"You may be going away soon, 'Red.' Will you write to me if you do?"
"Will I?" he cried, "Every day--a postal-card at least. I ain't much at
letters.... But I'm not so sure I'm goin', Angy. Something tells me that
even if your father does hold the mortgage, it won't be foreclosed. Gil
Jones has worked too hard...."
"Dad's awfully hard about holding to a bargain," Angela reminded him. "He's
all business. He wasn't that way until after Ma died. I do wish he'd be
more human. I've talked to him and talked to him, until I'm tired; but he's
getting harder all the time. This is the last day, isn't it?"
"Yes. Jones is awful blue. That's one reason I ought to get back. Maybe he
needs some cheerin' up. God knows his Uncle Henry don't give him much."
The sun was now high in the heavens. It was almost noon. "Red" said he
would walk. No trouble at all; and what did he care how hot it was? He was
used to it. But how he did hate to leave his Angela!
He played his harmonica most of the way home, and he was still running his
lips along the instrument when he entered the adobe door, just as Uncle
Henry wheeled out of it.