Bob turned to Amy with a laughing comment that died on his lips. The
girl was standing very straight on the other side of the table. One
little brown hand grasped and crushed the edge of her starched apron;
her black brows were drawn in a straight line of indignation beneath
which her splendid eyes flashed; her rounded bosom, half-defined by the
loose, soft blue of her simple gown, rose and fell rapidly.
"And you're going to do it?" she threw across at him.
Bob, bewildered, stared at her.
"You're going to deliver over your friend to prison?" She moved swiftly
around the table to stand close to him. "Surely you can't mean to do
that! You've worked with him, and lived with him--and he's a dear, jolly
old man!"
"Hold on!" cried Bob, recovering from the first shock, and beginning to
enjoy the situation. "You don't understand. If I don't give my
testimony, think what the Service will lose in the Basin."
"Lose!" she cried indignantly. "What of it? Do you think if I had a
friend who was near and dear to me I'd sacrifice him for all the trees
in the mountains? How can you!"
"_Et tu Brute_!" said Bob a little wearily.
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