Steve Yeager | Page 7

perhaps you'd rather show him how it's done."
Lennox looked, straight at him. "Nothing doing. And I serve notice
right here that I'll have no more trouble with you. If it's got to come to
that either you or I will quit the company."
The bully's eyes narrowed. "Which one of us?"
"It'll be up to Threewit to pass on that."
Harrison put on his coat and slouched sulkily out of the building. He
knew quite well that if it came to a choice between him and Lennox the
director would sacrifice him without a moment's consideration.
Farrar, who had been grinding out pictures since the beginning of
hostilities, came forward to greet Yeager with a little whoop of joy.
"Say, you sure go some, Cactus Center. I never did see a fellow eat up

such a licking and come up smiling. You're certainly one Mellin's Food
baby. I'm for you--strong."
One of Steve's eyes was closing rapidly, but the other had not lost its
twinkle.
"Does a fellow's system good to assimilate a tanning oncet in a
while--sort o' corrects any mistaken notions he's liable to collect.
Gentlemen, hush! Ain't Harrison the boss eat-em-alive white hope that
ever turkey-trotted down the pike?"
The melancholy Manderson smiled. "You make a hit with me, Arizona.
If I were in your place I'd be waiting for the undertaker. You look like
you'd out come of a railroad wreck, two fires, and a cattle stampede
over your carcass. Here, boys, hustle along first aid to our friend the
punching-bag."
They got him water and towels and a sponge. Steve, protesting
humorously, submitted to their ministrations. He was grateful for the
friendliness that prompted their kindness. The atmosphere had subtly
changed. During the afternoon he had sensed a little aloofness, an
intention on the part of the company members to stand off until they
knew him better. Now the ice was melted. They had taken him into the
family. He had passed with honors his preliminary examination.
CHAPTER III
CHAD HARRISON
As soon as Steve stepped into the dining-room he knew that the story
of his fight with Harrison had preceded him. His battered face became
an immediate focus of curious veiled glances. These exhibited an
animated interest rather than surprise.
Mrs. Seymour introduced him in turn to each of the other boarders, and
the furtive looks stared for a moment their frank questions at him. As
he drew in his chair beside a slender, tanned young woman, he knew
with some amusement that his arrival had interrupted a conversation of

which he had been the theme.
The film actress seated beside Yeager must have been in her very early
twenties, but her pretty face, finely modeled, had the provocative
effrontery that is the note of twentieth-century young womanhood. Its
audacity, which was the quintessence of worldliness, held an alert
been-through-it-all expression.
"I hope you like Los Robles, Mr. Yeager. Some of us don't, you know,"
she suggested.
"Like it fine, Miss Ellington," he answered with enthusiasm, accepting
from Ruth Seymour a platter of veal croquettes.
Daisy Ellington slanted mischievous eyes toward him. "Not much
doing here. It's a dead little hole. You'll be bored to death--if you
haven't been already."
"Me! I've found it right lively," retorted Steve, his eyes twinkling. "Had
all the excitement I could stand for one day. You see I come from way
back in the cow country, ma'am."
"And I came from New York," she sighed. "When it comes to little old
Broadway I'm there with bells on. What d'you mean, cow country?
Ain't this far enough off the map? Say, were you ever in New York?"
"Oncet. With a load of steers my boss was shipping to England. Lemme
see. It was three years ago come next October."
"Three years ago. Why, that was when I was in the pony ballet with
'Adam, Eve, and the Apple.' Did you see the show?"
"Bet I did."
Her eyes sparkled. "I was in the first row, third from the left in the
'Good-Night' chorus. Some kick to that song, wasn't there?"
"I should say yes. We're old friends, then, aren't we?" exclaimed
Yeager promptly. He buried her little hand in his big brown paw, a

friendly smile beaming through the disfigurements of his bruised face.
"He didn't do a thing to you, did he?" she commented, looking him over
frankly.
"Not a thing--except run me through a sausage-grinder, drop me out of
one of these aeroplanes, hammer my haid with a pile-driver, and jounce
me up and down on a big pile of sharp rocks. Outside of trifles like that
I had it all my own way."
"I don't see any alfalfa in your hair," she laughed. Then, lowering her
voice discreetly, she added: "Harrison's a brute. I'll tell you about him