" "What?" he barked. Bah. At times he seemed to be claiming pity from her; at times he was threatening her with her check and exposure; at times he was boasting of his inflexible will, and how, in the end, he always got what he wanted. The plank hung over his head. “I suppose a girl MUST be underpaid and sweated,” said Ann Veronica. Everything was fresh and bright, from the kindly manners of the Frutigen cobbler, who hammered mountain nails into her boots, to the unfamiliar wild flowers that spangled the wayside. “This life is killing me! Oh, it is dull, dull, dull!” Suddenly an idea seemed to strike her.
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