“He is on his way down the mountain with Foster Wait,” Hopwood replied promptly. “He’ll be down here at the store in less than half an hour,” he added, as though he had noticed the doubt in Scott’s face.
“Then I guess I’ll wait here till he comes,” Scott said. “I don’t want to be seen now traipsing around the country with Foster Wait.
“He’ll have some job to make me give a logging contract to either of those gangs,” Scott muttered defiantly. Then, after a minute’s silence, “Do you think that either the Morgans or the Waits could carry out a logging contract if they did get it, Hopwood? Have they the money to do it?”
But there was no answer. Hopwood had disappeared again in his usual silent and mysterious fashion. Scott knew better now than to waste his time looking for him. He fell to brooding over this phase of the problem, and when he looked at his watch it was already ten minutes after the time which Hopwood had predicted for Mr. Reynolds’ arrival. Scott jumped to his feet and hurried out into the open. He was delighted to see Mr. Reynolds coming up the street alone and walked down to meet him.
Mr. Reynolds was a rather effeminate-looking man, over neatly dressed in the very latest cut of riding suit. He affected a rather bored manner. He waved an indolent greeting to Scott.
“Hello, there, Burton! I sure am glad to see you. I thought I was going to have to eat another meal in this beastly hole. Now I can probably finish up with you in time to catch the afternoon train.”
Scott wished that he had caught the train the day before but he did not dare to say so. Instead he said, “Think how long I shall have to eat here. Better stay awhile. Misery loves company, you know.”
“Well, I hope you get all the company you want, but it sure will not be mine if I can help it.”
“By the way,” Scott asked suddenly, “where did you get that cigarette?”
“Pardon me,” Mr. Reynolds exclaimed, as he fumbled apologetically in his pocket for the package, “but I was under the impression that you never smoked.”