"
And Blanche replied: "When he does that, what will you do, Joe?"
"Do? Do?" The man stroked his beard softly. "Why, give him ditto--
cold."
"Well, then, there's nothing to row about, is there?" And Soldier Joe
was not on the instant clever enough to answer her sophistry; but when
she left him and he had thought awhile, he said, convincingly:
"But where would you be then, Blanche? . . . That's the point."
One thing was known and certain: Blanche was earning her living by
honest, if not high-class, labour. Weir the tavern-keeper said she was
"worth hundreds" to him. But she grew pale, her eyes became peculiarly
brilliant, her voice took a lower key, and lost a kind of hoarseness it
had in the past. Men came in at times merely to have a joke at her
expense, having heard of her new life; but they failed to enjoy their own
attempts at humour. Women of her class came also, some with half-
uncertain jibes, some with a curious wistfulness, and a few with scornful
oaths; but the jibes and oaths were only for a time. It became known
that she had paid the coach fare of Miss Dido (as she was called) to the
hospital at Wapiti, and had raised a subscription for her maintenance
there, heading it herself with a liberal sum. Then the atmosphere round
her became less trying; yet her temper remained changeable, and had it
not been that she was good-looking and witty, her position might have
been insecure.
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