It was with a considerably lighter heart that Bryce returned to the
mill-office, from which he lost no time in summoning Buck Ogilvy by
telephone.
“Thanks so much for the invitation,” Ogilvy murmured gratefully. “I'll
be down in a pig's whisper.” And he was. “Bryce, you look like the
devil,” he declared the moment he entered the latter's private office.
“I ought to, Buck. I've just raised the devil and spilled the beans on
the N. C. O.”
“To whom, when, and where?”
“To Pennington's niece, over the telephone about two hours ago.”
Buck Ogilvy smote his left palm with his right fist. “And you've waited
two hours to confess your crime? Zounds, man, this is bad.”
“I know. Curse me, Buck. I've probably talked you out of a good job.”
“Oh, say not so, old settler. We may still have an out. How did you let
the cat out of the bag?”
“That remarkable girl called me up, and accused you of being a mere
screen for me and amazed me so I admitted it.”
Ogilvy dropped his red head in simulated agony and moaned. Presently he
raised it and said: “Well, it might have been worse. Think of what
might have happened had she called in person. She would have picked your
pocket for the corporate seal, the combination of the safe, and the list
of stockholders, and probably ended up by gagging you and binding you in
your own swivel-chair.”
“Don't, Buck. Comfort and not abuse is what I need now.”
“All right. I'll conclude my remarks by stating that I regard you as
a lovable fat-head devoid of sufficient mental energy to pound the
proverbial sand into the proverbial rat-hole. Now, then, what do you
want me to do to save the day?”
“Deliver to me by six o'clock Thursday night a temporary franchise from
the city council, granting the N. C. O. the right to run a railroad from
our drying-yard across Water Street at its intersection with B Street
and out Front Street.”
“Certainly. By all means! Easiest thing I do! Sure you don't want me to
arrange to borrow a star or two to make a ta-ra-ra for the lady that's
made a monkey out of you? No? All right, old dear! I'm on my way to
do my damnedest, which angels can't do no more. Nevertheless, for your
sins, you shall do me a favour before my heart breaks after falling down
on this contract you've just given me.”
“Granted, Buck. Name it.”
“I'm giving a nice little private, specially cooked dinner to Miss
McTavish to-night. We're going to pull it off in one of those private
screened corrals in that highly decorated Chink restauraw on Third
Street. Moira--that is, Miss McTavish--is bringing a chaperon, one Miss
Shirley Sumner. Your job is to be my chaperon and entertain Miss Sumner,
who from all accounts is most brilliant and fascinating.”
“Nothing doing!” Bryce almost roared. “Why, she's the girl that bluffed
the secret of the N. C. O. out of me!”
“Do you hate her for it?”
“No, I hate myself.”
“Then you'll come. You promised in advance, and no excuses go now. The
news will be all over town by Friday morning; so why bother to keep up
appearances any longer. Meet me at the Canton at seven and check dull
care at the entrance.”
And before Bryce could protest, Ogilvy had thrown open the office door
and called the glad tidings to Moira, who was working in the next room;
whereupon Moira's wonderful eyes shone with that strange lambent flame.
She clasped her hands joyously. “Oh, how wonderful!” she exclaimed “I've
always wanted Miss Shirley to meet Mr. Bryce.”
Again Bryce was moved to protest, but Buck Ogilvy reached around the
half-opened door and kicked him in the shins. “Don't crab my game, you
miserable snarley-yow. Detract one speck from that girl's pleasure, and
you'll never see that temporary franchise,” he threatened. “I will not
work for a quitter--so, there!” And with his bright smile he set out
immediately upon the trail of the city council, leaving Bryce Cardigan
a prey to many conflicting emotions, the chief of which, for all that
he strove to suppress it, was riotous joy in the knowledge that while he
had fought against it, fate had decreed that he should bask once more in
the radiance of Shirley Sumner's adorable presence. Presently, for
the first time in many weeks, Moira heard him whistling “Turkey in the
Straw.”