Harold Edward Bindloss

“ Ida laughed.
"Oh," she said, "I've naturally heard of that. It's quite an old notion, and didn't originate with you English people. Didn't the Roman emperors claim to have the Imperial purple in their veins? Still, out here, when we speak of a man appreciatively we say his blood is—red."
"And that's the color of packer Weston's."
A faint gleam crept into Ida's eyes as she remembered the white-faced man who had limped out of camp one morning almost too weary to drag himself along. ”

“ The people for whom I worked seemed quite pleased with the way I did it, and paid me reasonably. I lived in a big boarding-house like a rabbit-warren. Through the thin partitions I could hear the people all about me stirring in their sleep at night. I went to the mill in a crowded car every morning, and up to the office in an elevator. I stayed with it just a month, and then I broke out."
"Broke out?" said Ida.
"Threw the flour-mill people's pens across the office. You see, I was getting sick for room and air. ”

“ She took alarm and stopped her ears to it.
"Is it wise to listen?" she asked. "It leads to nothing but restlessness."
"It seldom leads to any material benefit," Weston admitted. "After all, I think, one has to be a vagabond before one can properly appreciate it."
"You seem sure of that?" Ida's curiosity to know more of him would not permit her to avoid the personal application.
"I'm afraid there must be a little of the vagabond in me," said Weston, with a smile. "Once I walked into Winnipeg without a dollar, and was fortunate in hiring myself to add up figures in a big flour-mill. ”

“ He leaned farther back against the tree, with a little whimsical smile. It was pleasant to appear as a modern Ulysses in the eyes of a very pretty girl, but he had, as she was quick to recognize, taken up the role unconsciously. ”

“ Feeling anxious to get back to the track?"
Weston's eyes twinkled.
"I don't think I am."
"Then you may stay right where you are, and take care of my daughter. If she wants to climb mountains or shoot rapids, it's to be done; but you'll fix things so it can be done safely. You're in charge of this outfit, and not that major man."
Stirling was never addicted to mincing matters, but Weston could not quite repress a grin.
"It would make things a little difficult if Major Kinnaird understands that," he said.
"Then you must see that he doesn't. You can fix it somehow. It's up to you." ”

“ Mrs. Kinnaird has gone to sleep; and Arabella appears a little cross."
Weston nodded.
"It's excusable," he said. "How is Miss Kinnaird's knee?"
"I don't think it's very bad. How is your foot? It doesn't seem to have affected your temper."
Weston laughed.
"I'd forgotten all about it. In some respects I feel a little obliged to it. You see, for once in a while, it's rather nice to have nothing to do, and know that one's wages won't immediately stop. Besides, to be waited on is a pleasant change."
Ida's eyebrows straightened a trifle as they sometimes did when she was not exactly pleased. ”

“ Her companion had no opportunity for answering, for Major Kinnaird came back from the smoking end of the car just then, and when he spoke to Ida his daughter took up a book she had laid down.
In the meanwhile, a mountain locomotive and a train of flat cars came clanking into the station where Weston waited. Swinging himself onto one he took his place among the men who sat on the rails with which the car was loaded. ”