Part 23 (1/2)
”Very good. Let me watch this hen for a few minutes and diagnose her.
You go on to your other chickens. I'll stay here and think.”
d.i.c.ksie went down through the yards. When she came back, Whispering Smith was sitting on a cracker-box watching the bantam. The chicken was making desperate efforts to get off d.i.c.ksie's cord and join its companions in the runway. Smith was eying the bantam critically when d.i.c.ksie rejoined him. ”Do you usually,” he asked, looking suddenly up, ”have success in setting roosters?”
”Now you are having fun with me again.”
”No, by Heaven! I am not.”
”Have you diagnosed the case?”
”I have, and I have diagnosed it as a case of mistaken ident.i.ty.”
”Ident.i.ty?”
”And misapplied energy. Miss d.i.c.ksie, you have tied up the wrong bird.
This is not a bantam hen at all; this is a bantam rooster. Now that is _my_ judgment. Compare him with the others. Notice how much darker his plumage is--it's the rooster,” declared Whispering Smith, wiping the perplexity from his brow. ”Don't feel bad, not at all. Cut him loose, Miss d.i.c.ksie--don't hesitate; do it on my responsibility. Now let's look at the cannibal leghorns--and great Caesar.”
CHAPTER XXIV
BETWEEN GIRLHOOD AND WOMANHOOD
About nine o'clock that night Puss ushered McCloud in from the river.
d.i.c.ksie came running downstairs to meet him. ”Your cousin insisted I should come up to the house for some supper,” said McCloud dryly. ”I could have taken camp fare with the men. Gordon stayed there with him.”
d.i.c.ksie held his hat in her hand, and her eyes were bright in the firelight. Puss must have thought the two made a handsome couple, for she lingered, as she started for the kitchen, to look back.
”Puss,” exclaimed her mistress, ”fry a chicken right away! A big one, Puss! Mr. McCloud is very hungry, I know. And be quick, do! Oh, how is the river, Mr. McCloud?”
”Behaving like a lamb. It hasn't fallen much, but the pressure seems to be off the bank, if you know what that means?”
”You must be a magician! Things changed the minute you came!”
”The last doctor usually gets credit for the cure, you know.”
”Oh, I know all about that. Don't you want to freshen up? Should you mind coming right to my room? Marion is in hers,” explained d.i.c.ksie, ”and I am never sure of Cousin Lance's,--he has so many boots.”
When she had disposed of McCloud she flew to the kitchen. Puss was starting after a chicken. ”Take a lantern, Puss!” whispered d.i.c.ksie vehemently.
”No, indeed; dis n.i.g.g.e.r don' need no lantern fo' chickens, Miss d.i.c.ksie.”
”But get a good one, Puss, and make haste, do! Mr. McCloud must be starved! Where is the baking powder? I'll get the biscuits started.”
Puss turned fiercely. ”Now look-a heah, yo' can't make biscuits! Yo'
jes' go se' down wif dat young gen'm'n! Jes' lemme lone, ef yo'
please! Dis ain't de firs' time I killed chickens, Miss d.i.c.ksie, an'