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The general manager pressed one of the electric buttons on the side of the desk, and to the clerk who answered gave a brief order: "Have the Naught-Seven provisioned and made up to go east as a special at twelve-ten to-day. Tell Despatcher Darby to make the schedule fast nineteen hours or less to the River." The clerk nodded and disappeared, and North turned again to MacMorrogh.
At twelve-ten the train slid in on the log landing of the Laguna Grande Lumber Company's main camp, and Bryce dropped off and approached the engineer of the little donkey-engine used for loading the logs. "Where's Rondeau?" he asked. The engineer pointed to a huge, swarthy man approaching across the clearing in which the camp was situated. "That's him," he replied.
"Well?" said the general manager, lifting a slow eyebrow at MacMorrogh and compressing into the single word his wish to know what had been done in the conference of two. "'Tis all right, Misther North," said the contractor, rubbing his hands. "'Tis a crown jewel ye have in this yooung " North cut the eulogy short in a word to his secretary. "I go east, special, at twelve-ten, Eckstein, as Mr.
It was half an hour later when the door of the library opened to readmit the private secretary and the contractor, and in the interval the division superintendent's clerk had returned to say that the special train schedule was made up, and that the Naught-Seven would be waiting at the Union Station at twelve-ten.
"Oh only twelve-ten" he had looked at his watch. "We've taken but thirteen minutes; we've time yet." "Then we must walk. We must go toward them." Densher, from where they had been standing, measured the long reach of the Square. "They're still in their shop. They're safe for half an hour." "That shows then, that shows!" said Kate.
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