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"You'd better go to-morrow," answered Carhart, glancing at the calendar. "That's the 1st of May. I'll expect your report here on the 1st of June." Next morning Samuel left for Chicago, and two days later he was facing Hamil across a table in the office of the Merchants' Trust in San Antonio. It didn't take long to get the gist of the thing.
"You'll go to San Antonio and see Hamil," continued Carhart. "He's got a job on hand and he wants a man to take charge." Hamil was in charge of the Carhart interests in the Southwest, a man who had grown up in the shadow of his employer, and with whom, though they had never met, Samuel had had much official correspondence. "When do I leave?"
"That remains to be seen," said Johnny grimly. "But it was the only thing to do. If Carhart and Malone had ever been given time to report on our confab the other evening, you and Danny Randall and Dr. Rankin would have been marked men. Now no one knows of your connection with this matter." "But they'll be after you " "They were after us in any case," Johnny pointed out.
"In there," Prescott answered, pointing to the house. "I've got to deliver this book collect to a Mrs. Carhart." "Get up on the seat and I'll drive you in there," proposed Dave. "Though I don't believe there's any one living in the house. All the front doors and windows are boarded up." After five minutes of doorbell ringing Dick concluded that he would find no Mrs. Carhart there.
Carhart spread his legs, tilted his head back on the chair, slanted his stiff-brim hat until it made a thatch for his nose, and began one of his customary growls: to the room to the drenched port-holes to the brim of his hat; as a half-asleep dog sometimes does when things have gone wrong with him or he dreams they have. "This ship reminds me of another old tramp, the Persia," he drawled.
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