if he could not get used to the smooth feel of it. Pocket had a clean-cut jaw and strong features, and since she had been seeing him whiskerless Kendra had observed that he was quite a handsome man.
All of a sudden, as if he had heard his name, Pocket turned toward the front door. Kendra could see his face in profile. His lips parted with a quick intake of breath, and he smiled, like a man who opens a smudgy window and sees a rainbow.
There had been no sound of the door’s opening—there never was—but now it did seem to Kendra that she too had heard something, a faint rustle maybe, but it had been so faint that she had hardly noticed it. Now she turned her head and saw what Pocket was looking at.
Full in the flood of sunshine stood a girl.
Any girl was an event in San Francisco, but this girl, anywhere, would have taken a man’s thoughts away from what he should have been doing. She had red hair and green eyes and a sumptuous figure, and she wore a green silk dress that matched her eyes, and a fashionable straw bonnet with green ribbons. Her face was not perfect, but the look of it was warmer and more tempting than orthodox beauty. It was an unexpected face—full lips, short impudent nose, and freckles. She had so many freckles that she looked as if somebody had sprayed her with powdered gold.
Her eyes were green as clover, and from under the brim of her bonnet the wind had blown wavy locks of hair, copper-red, the shade and shine of a new penny. As she stood there in the sunbeam, slowly and with an air of merry mischief she untied the green ribbons and took off her bonnet. Her red hair caught the sun like a torch, her freckles almost twinkled in the light. She was not beautiful, but she was spectacular, and Kendra wondered what such a woman was doing out here at the end of the world.
Pocket had not paused to wonder. Dropping his newspaper, he had sprung to his feet and was going with long strides to meet her. He reached her with hardly a sound—surprising, what quiet habits he had—and with a shy and likable smile, he spoke. “May I take your bonnet, ma’am?”
The stranger’s clover-green eyes sparkled upon him. No doubt she was used to making conquests, but she was not tired of it. “Thank you,” she said, and handed him her bonnet with winning grace. As Pocket took the bonnet she added, “I’m looking for—” but she had no chance to finish, for by this time the other men had seen her too, and now the whole room was astir.
The three packing boys were staring, Foxy murmuring, “Lord, look athere!”—and the others making comments of their own. Hodge seemed to have forgotten his dusty customer, but it did not matter because the customer was staring too, forgetting the list in his hand. Even Mr. Fenway had started forward, and was now pushing aside a barrel that stood in his way. They had all taken a step toward her, but Mr. Fenway looked around with an air of stern rebuke, reminding them that he was boss here and he would greet his visitor. He reached her and his long figure crumpled in a bow.
“Good morning, ma’am,” he droned. “My name is Fenway. Can I be of service?”
Hodge and the customer, Foxy and Bert and Al and Pocket gazed in rapture. The freckled charmer managed to include them all in the smile with which she answered,
“Why Mr. Fenway, you’re the very man I’m looking for. You and Mr. Chase. Is it convenient for you to talk to me?”
Mr. Fenway solemnly assured her that it was most convenient.
Kendra, in the doorway of the storeroom, made up her mind to stay there and keep still. Something—she did not quite know what—told her that this buoyant redhead had made Mr. Fenway forget that she herself was anywhere around. If he should be reminded of her presence this scene would fade off, and she wanted it to continue.
The redhead was saying to Mr. Fenway,
“You are very kind to a stranger, sir. My name is Marny—oh, just call me Marny, everybody does. I feel as if I
All of a sudden, as if he had heard his name, Pocket turned toward the front door. Kendra could see his face in profile. His lips parted with a quick intake of breath, and he smiled, like a man who opens a smudgy window and sees a rainbow.
There had been no sound of the door’s opening—there never was—but now it did seem to Kendra that she too had heard something, a faint rustle maybe, but it had been so faint that she had hardly noticed it. Now she turned her head and saw what Pocket was looking at.
Full in the flood of sunshine stood a girl.
Any girl was an event in San Francisco, but this girl, anywhere, would have taken a man’s thoughts away from what he should have been doing. She had red hair and green eyes and a sumptuous figure, and she wore a green silk dress that matched her eyes, and a fashionable straw bonnet with green ribbons. Her face was not perfect, but the look of it was warmer and more tempting than orthodox beauty. It was an unexpected face—full lips, short impudent nose, and freckles. She had so many freckles that she looked as if somebody had sprayed her with powdered gold.
Her eyes were green as clover, and from under the brim of her bonnet the wind had blown wavy locks of hair, copper-red, the shade and shine of a new penny. As she stood there in the sunbeam, slowly and with an air of merry mischief she untied the green ribbons and took off her bonnet. Her red hair caught the sun like a torch, her freckles almost twinkled in the light. She was not beautiful, but she was spectacular, and Kendra wondered what such a woman was doing out here at the end of the world.
Pocket had not paused to wonder. Dropping his newspaper, he had sprung to his feet and was going with long strides to meet her. He reached her with hardly a sound—surprising, what quiet habits he had—and with a shy and likable smile, he spoke. “May I take your bonnet, ma’am?”
The stranger’s clover-green eyes sparkled upon him. No doubt she was used to making conquests, but she was not tired of it. “Thank you,” she said, and handed him her bonnet with winning grace. As Pocket took the bonnet she added, “I’m looking for—” but she had no chance to finish, for by this time the other men had seen her too, and now the whole room was astir.
The three packing boys were staring, Foxy murmuring, “Lord, look athere!”—and the others making comments of their own. Hodge seemed to have forgotten his dusty customer, but it did not matter because the customer was staring too, forgetting the list in his hand. Even Mr. Fenway had started forward, and was now pushing aside a barrel that stood in his way. They had all taken a step toward her, but Mr. Fenway looked around with an air of stern rebuke, reminding them that he was boss here and he would greet his visitor. He reached her and his long figure crumpled in a bow.
“Good morning, ma’am,” he droned. “My name is Fenway. Can I be of service?”
Hodge and the customer, Foxy and Bert and Al and Pocket gazed in rapture. The freckled charmer managed to include them all in the smile with which she answered,
“Why Mr. Fenway, you’re the very man I’m looking for. You and Mr. Chase. Is it convenient for you to talk to me?”
Mr. Fenway solemnly assured her that it was most convenient.
Kendra, in the doorway of the storeroom, made up her mind to stay there and keep still. Something—she did not quite know what—told her that this buoyant redhead had made Mr. Fenway forget that she herself was anywhere around. If he should be reminded of her presence this scene would fade off, and she wanted it to continue.
The redhead was saying to Mr. Fenway,
“You are very kind to a stranger, sir. My name is Marny—oh, just call me Marny, everybody does. I feel as if I
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