"Why--eh--yes, miss--you might--eh--say that. He," with a
flip of his hand toward the other, "eh--reminds me--of--eh--an old
friend."
"Indeed? How extremely interesting!" eagerly scenting a new story.
"Please tell me who it was, Mr. McNeil."
"Oh--eh--knew him when I was a boy--eh--Munchausen."
Mr. Moffat drew in his head violently, with an exclamation nearly
profane, yet before he could speak Miss Spencer intervened.
"Munchausen! Why, Mr. McNeil, you surely do not intend to question the
truth of Mr. Moffat's narrative?"
The foreman's eyes twinkled humorously, but the lines of his face
remained calmly impassive. "My--eh--reference," he explained, gravely,
"was--eh--entirely to the--eh--local color, the--eh--expert touches."
"Oh!"
"Yes, miss. It's--eh--bad taste out here to--eh--doubt anybody's
word--eh--publicly."
Moffat stirred uneasily, his hand flung behind him, but McNeil was
gazing into the lady's fair face, apparently unconscious of any other
presence.
"But all this time you have not favored me with any of your own
adventures, Mr. McNeil. I am very sure you must have had hundreds out
on these wide plains.
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