"Well," said Tim, summing up the situation, "before you come he used to be the hull thing. Now he's got to play second fiddle."
But Cameron remained unenlightened.
"Oh, pshaw!" continued Tim, making further concessions to his friend's stupidity. "At the dances, at the raisin's, runnin', jumpin'--everythin'--Perkins used to be the King Bee. Now--"
Tim's silence furnished an impressive close to the contrast. "Why!
They all think you are just fine!" said Tim, with a sudden burst of confidence.
"They?"
"All the boys. Yes, and the girls, too," said Tim, allowing his solemn face the unusual luxury of a smile.
"The girls?"
"Aw, yeh know well enough--the Murray girls, and the MacKenzies, and the hull lot of them. And then--and then--there's Mandy, too."
Here Tim shot a keen glance at his friend, who now sat leaning against the trunk of an apple tree with his eyes closed.
"Now, Tim, you are a shrewd little chap"--here Cameron sat upright--"but how do you know about the girls, and what is this you say about Mandy? Mandy is good to me--very kind and all that, but--"
"She used to like Perkins pretty well," said Tim, with a kind of hesitating shyness.
"And Perkins?"
"Oh, he thought he jist owned her. Guess he ain't so sure now," added Tim. "I guess you've changed Mandy all right."
It was the one thing Cameron hated to hear, but he made light of it.
"Oh, nonsense!" he exclaimed. "But if I did I would be mighty glad of it. Mandy is too good for a man like Perkins. Why, he isn't safe."
"He's a terror," replied Tim seriously. "They are all scairt of him. He's a terror to fight. Why, at MacKenzie's raisin' last year he jist went round foamin' like an old boar and nobody dast say a word to him. Even Mack Murray was scairt to touch him. When he gets like that he ain't afraid of nothin' and he's awful quick and strong."
Tim proceeded to enlarge upon this theme, which apparently fascinated him, with tales of Perkins' prowess in rough-and-tumble fighting. But Cameron had lost interest and was lying down again with his eyes closed.
"Well," he said, when Tim had finished his recital, "if he is that kind of a man Mandy should have nothing to do with him."
But Tim was troubled.
"Dad likes him," he said gloomily. "He is a good hand. And ma likes him, too. He taffies her up."
"And Mandy?" enquired Cameron.
"I don't know," said Tim, still more gloomy. "I guess he kind of makes her. I'd--I'd jist like to take a lump out of him." Tim's eyes blazed into a sudden fire. "He runs things on this farm altogether too much."
"Buck up then, Tim, and beat him," said Cameron, dismissing the subject. "And now I must have some sleep. I have got an awful head on."
Tim was quick enough to understand the hint, but still he hovered about.
"Say, I'm awful sorry," he said. "Can't I git somethin'? You didn't eat no breakfast."
"Oh, all I want is sleep, Tim. I will be all right tomorrow," replied Cameron, touched by the tone of sympathy in Tim's voice.
"You are a fine little chap. Trot along and let me sleep."
But no sleep came to Cameron, partly because of the hammer knocking in his head, but chiefly because of the thoughts set going by Tim.
Cameron was not abnormally egotistical, but he was delightedly aware of the new place he held in the community ever since the now famous Dominion Day picnic, and, now that the harvest rush had somewhat slackened, social engagements had begun to crowd upon him.
Dances and frolics, coon hunts and raisings were becoming the vogue throughout the community, and no social function was complete without the presence of Cameron. But this sudden popularity had its embarrassments, and among them, and threatening to become annoying, was the hostility of Perkins, veiled as yet, but none the less real. Moreover, behind Perkins stood a band of young fellows of whom he was the recognised leader and over whom his ability in the various arts and crafts of the farm, his physical prowess in sports, his gay, cheery manner, and, it must be said, the reputation he bore for a certain fierce brute courage in rough-and-tumble fighting, gave him a sort of ascendency.
But Perkins' attitude towards him did not after all cause Cameron much concern. There was another and more annoying cause of embarrassment, and that was Mandy. Tim's words kept reiterating themselves in his brain, "You've changed Mandy all right." Over this declaration of Tim's, Cameron proceeded to argue with himself.
He sat bolt upright that he might face himself on the matter.
"Now, then," he said to himself, "let's have this thing out."
"Most willingly. This girl was on the way to engagement to this young man Perkins. You come on the scene. Everything is changed."
"Well! What of it? It's a mighty good thing for her."
"But you are the cause of it."
"The occasion, rather."
"No, the cause. You have attracted her to you."
"I can't help that. Besides, it is a mere passing whim. She'll get over all that?" And Cameron laughed scornfully in his own face.
"Do you know that? And how do you know it? Tim thinks differently."
"Oh, confound it all! I see that I shall have to get out of here."
"A wise decision truly, and the sooner the better. Do you propose to go at once?"
"At once? Well, I should like to spend the winter here. I have made a number of friends and life is beginning to be pleasant."
"Exactly! It suits your convenience, but how about Mandy?"
"Oh, rubbish! Must I be governed by the fancies of that silly girl? Besides, the whole thing is absurdly ridiculous."
"But facts are stubborn, and anyone can see that the girl is--"
"Hang it all! I'll go at the end of the month."
"Very well. And in the leave-taking--?"
"What?"
"It is pleasant to be appreciated and to carry away with one memories, I will not say tender, but appreciative."
"I can't act like a boor. I must be decent to the girl. Besides, she isn't altogether a fool."
"No, but very crude, very primitive, very passionate, and therefore very defenseless."
"All right, I shall simply shake hands and go."
