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The Wag-Lady
by
The next morning when June returned to her cabin she found a case of butter.
A few days later the Dummy discovered a string of ptarmigan hanging beside the rear door of a restaurant, and, desiring to offer June some delicate little attention, he returned after dark and removed them. As ptarmigan were selling at five dollars a brace, he was careful to protect the girl; he sat on the back steps of the restaurant and picked the birds thoroughly, scattering the feathers with a careless hand.
Scarcely a day passed that June did not receive something from the Wags, but of course she never dreamed that her gifts had been stolen. As for her admirers, it was the highest mark of their esteem thus to lay at her feet the choicest fruits of their precarious labors, and, although they were common thieves–nay, worse than that–they stole rather from love of excitement than for hope of gain, and the more fantastic the adventure the more it tickled their distorted fancies.
They were most amusing, and June grew to like them immensely. She began to mother them in the way that pleases all women. She ruled them like a family of wayward children, she settled their disputes, and they submitted with subdued, though extravagant, joy. She asked Llewellyn once about that wound in his arm, but he lied fluently, and she believed him, for she was not the kind to credit evil of her friends.
Once they had received encouragement, they fairly monopolized her. She was never safe from interruption, for the Wag-boys never slept. They came to her cabin singly and collectively at all hours of day or night, during her absence or during her presence, and they never failed to leave something behind them.
Reddy was a good cook, but he loathed a stove as he loathed a policeman, yet he donned an apron, and at the cost of much profanity and sweat produced a chocolate cake that would have done credit to a New England housewife. Furthermore, it bore June’s name in a beautiful scroll surrounded by a chocolate wreath, and she found it on her bed when she came home one morning.
Chancing to express a liking for oysters in the hearing of the Scrap Iron Kid, she mysteriously received a whole case of them when she knew very well that there were none in camp. Of course she did not dream that in securing them the Kid had put his person in deadly peril.
On returning from her duties at another time she found that during the night the interior walls of her cabin had been painted, and, although she did not want them painted and although the smell gave her a violent headache, she pretended to be overcome with delight. In order to beautify her little nest Reddy had burgled a store and stolen all the paint there was of the particular shade that pleased his eye.
Now, the Wag-boys pretended to be care-free and happy as time went on. In reality they were gnawed by a secret trouble–it was June’s growing fondness for Harry Hope. After careful observation they decided that the P. C. agent would not do at all; he was too wild. He had undeniably lost his head and was gambling heavily, tempted perhaps by the lax morality of the camp and the license of good times.
It was the Dummy who finally proposed a means of safeguarding June’s wandering affections.
“Somebody’s got to split her away from this Hope,” he declared. “It’s up to us, and Llewellyn’s the only one in her class.”
The Scrap Iron Kid’s face assumed an ugly yellow cast as he inquired, quietly, “D’you mean George is to marry her?”
“Hardly!” exploded the Dummy. “Just toll her away.”
“Why shouldn’t I marry her?” Llewellyn demanded.
“I can think of five reasons,” the Kid retorted. He tapped his chest with his finger. “Here’s one, and there’s the other four.” He pointed to the other Wag-boys. “D’you think we’d let you marry her? Huh! I’d sooner marry her myself.”