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Haight was a wrinkled old man with a bald scalp covered with numerous brown patches about the size of ten-cent pieces. A fringe of white hair hung about his ears, over one of which was stuck a goose-quill pen. He looked up from his desk as I entered and eyed me sharply. "Well, Mr.
"He's too much of a sucker for the company, and knows too well which side his bread is buttered, for business of that kind." "I don't know about that," said Haight, "he's a dude and a tenderfoot himself, and likes to toady around with those eastern snobs; what else were they hob-nobbing with him for, if they didn't think they could get some information out of him?
I don't believe the judge could stick me anywhere in the subject of torts." "Say, boys," said Vandover, pausing and looking at his watch, "it isn't very late; let's go downtown and have some oysters." "That's a good idea," answered young Haight. "How about you, Charlie?" Geary said he was willing. "Ah," he added, "you ought to have seen the beefsteak I had this evening at the Grillroom."
Haight, who had not had his dinner the night before until nine o'clock, and whose steak this morning had been burned and his coffee muddy, had gone down-town in a huff, threatening to move to the hotel unless his wife found a servant or her sanity. Mrs.
But say, boss, what's all this racket about, anyhow? Some o' them eastern chaps comin' out here?" "That's none of your business, Jim," said Haight in a joking way, "you attend to what you've been told, and don't meddle with what don't concern you." "Is old Cameron comin' out here?" persisted Maverick, with an expression of fear and hatred combined, visible in his countenance.
"Of course," answered Lyle, "what else are my eyes and my small stock of brains for, but to study everybody and everything that comes in my way? Besides, it's rather interesting to find a person of some depth, after such shallow people as Mr. Blaisdell and Haight, and that class."
He had heard Vandover and Ellis in the room across the hall and had recognized their voices. Haight had never been a friend of Ellis, but no one, not even Turner, had grieved more over Vandover's ruin than had his old-time college chum. Young Haight heard the noise of the falling crockery as Ellis swept the table clear, and turned his head sharply, listening.
Marjorie Haight, Marylyn Wade, Harriet Cary, all the girls he had seen loitering down Jackson Street by noon, now, curled and brilliantined and delicately tinted for the overhead lights, were miraculously strange Dresden figures of pink and blue and red and gold, fresh from the shop and not yet fully dried.
Young Haight exclaimed at this, laughing good-naturedly, twirling his thumbs, and casting down his eyes with mock-modesty. "Well, that's the truth just the same," Vandover went on. "We young men of the cities are a fine lot. I'm not doing the baby act. I'm not laying the blame on the girls altogether, but I say that in a measure the girls are responsible.
And now, to see them lumped and sold to Doan, Rockwell & Haight even that hurt. But most of all did Judith's treatment of him cut, cut deep. "You're a fool, Bud Lee," he told himself softly. "Oh, God, what a fool!" "The buyers will be here the first thing to-morrow," said Hampton. "Judith says we're to have everything ready for them." "I'll not keep her waiting," answered Lee quietly.
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