El Diablo Part 5

"When my men are paid, I will go. But first, I must have my knife."

His eyes roved longingly in the direction of the dagger.

The girl took a quick step backward and covered Mascola's waist-line with the automatic.

"You'll go now," she said. Turning to Gregory she added: "Tell him you'll pay him down-town."

Gregory picked up the Italian's knife before replying:

"I'll be at the bank at two," he said, making no move to comply with Mascola's request for his weapon.

Mascola clenched his hands. His face grew red with pa.s.sion. For an instant he glared from Gregory to the girl. Then the color faded.

Turning to his men he spoke rapidly to them in their own tongue. The workmen retired sullenly and picking up their coats followed their leader to the door. Mascola hesitated for a moment on the threshold.

Then, checking the angry threat which rose to his lips, he went out.

Gregory watched him go in silence. Then he turned to the girl.

"My name is Gregory," he said. "You happened along just about right for me."

The tense lines about the girl's mouth disappeared slowly as she pa.s.sed a small brown hand across her forehead and replaced a truant lock.

"I am d.i.c.kie Lang," she announced simply. Shoving the automatic into her coat pocket, she extended her hand. "I knew your father well. I am glad to meet you."

The frankness of the words was strengthened by the look of sincerity in the brown eyes as she stood calmly looking him over.

Gregory curbed his surprise with an effort which left him staring at the girl in awkward silence. When he had thought of Lang's daughter at all, it had been only in the most abstract way. He had regarded her only a possible and very probable source of trouble, scarcely as a flesh and blood woman at all. Never a girl like this.

He wakened to the fact that he was a very stupid host. Barnes, after staring at d.i.c.kie Lang for a moment, had retired to his work, leaving Gregory alone with his guest in the middle of the receiving floor.

"Won't you come into the office?"

The words came hesitatingly. He nodded in the direction of the screen-door.

"Yes. I would like to talk with you."

Again the direct straightforward manner of speaking. d.i.c.kie Lang started at once for the office, walking across the floor with quick impatient steps. Gregory held the door open and as the girl brushed by him, he saw her flash a glance to the door of his father's office beyond. He led the way in silence to the room where he had been working and waited for his visitor to be seated.

d.i.c.kie Lang's eyes roved swiftly about the room, taking in the familiar details. Nothing had been changed. She could see her father leaning against the desk, his great shoulders hunched forward, his big hands nervously toying with the gla.s.s paper-weight, his blue eyes fixed upon the silent figure in the swivel-chair. Again she could hear the voice of Richard Gregory:

"All right, Bill. I'll see you through. Go ahead and get the boats."

d.i.c.kie realized with a start that the square-jawed, black-eyed young man before her was Richard Gregory's son. The past faded away. With simple directness she plunged into the object of her visit.

"I've brought the money due on the boats. Got into a squabble with the markets and they tied me up for a few days. Otherwise I would have been here sooner."

Thrusting her hand into her pocket, she drew out a roll of bills and began to count them.

Gregory watched her as she thumbed the bank-notes. The dark brown corduroy was simply, if mannishly cut, and in a way it became her. Her small feet and rounded ankles would have appeared to better advantage in high-heeled shoes and silk stockings than those blunt-nosed boots and canvas leggings. And why in the name of common sense would any woman with hair like that want to keep it tucked away under a close-fitting cap? She would have been beautiful in---- He roused himself from his examination of the girl's attire and strove to fix his mind on the object of her visit. He reached for the receipt-book as she finished counting the money.

"Tenth payment," she exclaimed. "Five hundred. Makes twelve thousand even. That right?"

Gregory ran over the money, consulting his notebook to verify the figures.

"Right," he answered.

While he wrote the receipt she studied him. So this was the man whom Richard Gregory had designated as a red-blooded American. The father's praise of his absent son, she was forced to admit, had slightly prejudiced her against the young man. No single individual could possess all the sterling traits of character attributed to him by the late cannery owner. That was impossible. He would fall down somewhere.

Gregory handed the girl her receipt.

"And now," he began, somewhat uncertain as to just how to proceed, "what do you intend to do about the boats?"

d.i.c.kie Lang paused in the act of folding the paper and looked up quickly. For some reason she felt herself irritated by the question. Her irritation crept into her voice as she answered:

"I'm going to run them, of course."

Gregory straightened in his chair and faced about.

"You're going to run them?" he repeated. "You don't mean yourself?"

"Sure. What else would I do with them?" she asked coldly.

The man was caught for the moment unawares by the suddenness of the question.

"I thought perhaps you would want to sell them," he answered bluntly.

"Why?" Her voice had a belligerent ring and he noticed that her eyes were snapping. As he did not immediately reply, she flashed: "I know why. It's because I'm a woman. You think I can't make good. Isn't that it?"

Gregory felt his cheeks burn at the feeling she threw into her words.

He hadn't meant to make it quite so plain but if she insisted on the truth, why not? Perhaps it was the best way.

"You've guessed it," he answered slowly. "You may call it prejudice if you like, but that is just the way I feel."

Tapping the floor angrily with her foot, she interrupted:

"It's worse than prejudice. It's just plain d.a.m.n-foolishness. Honestly, after all I've heard of you, I gave you credit for having more sense.

Your father wouldn't have said that. He believed there wasn't a thing in the world a man or woman couldn't do, if they tried hard enough. And he gave them the chance to make good. But I'll tell you right now, you've got a lot to learn before you'll be able to wear his hat."

Gregory sank deeper into his chair as d.i.c.kie Lang proceeded with his arraignment. Nothing could be said until she was through. His silence gave the girl a free rein to express her feelings.

"You think I don't know my game because I'm a woman. Why, I've been on the sea since I was a kid. If my father hadn't made me go to school, I would have lived with him on the water. And don't you suppose in fis.h.i.+ng with a man like Bill Lang, a person learns something? Doesn't that more than make up for the handicap of being a woman?"

The young man waited for a chance to put in a word but none came.

Becoming angrier each minute, she hurried on:

"There isn't a man in Legonia but you who would have said that. Not even Mascola. He hates me only because I do know my business. And you, a stranger, come down here and tell me----"

"I didn't say you didn't know your business," Gregory interjected as she drew a long breath.