"But suppose Smith still declines," said Baxter remembering his wife.
"Oh, he won't—he isn't a blamed fool," returned the Major, "and if he does," he added impressively, "if he does I swear to you I'll go into the race myself."
He held out his hand and Baxter grasped it in token of good faith.
"Then I'll do it," said the big man, "provided—" he hesitated, cleared his throat, and went on bravely, "provided there's no objection to my telling my wife the scheme"—bending his ear an instant, he drew back with an embarrassed and guilty face, "that's Smith's step in the warehouse. He'll be in here in less than two minutes."
The Major took up his hat, and flung back the door with a hurried movement.
"Well, good-bye, I'll see Smith later about the plans," he returned, "and meanwhile, we'll go hard to work to whip our friend Jasper."
Meeting Ordway an instant later upon the threshold, he passed him with a flourish of his hat, and marched rapidly under the brick archway out into the street.
As his bookkeeper entered Baxter appeared to be absorbed in a newspaper which he had picked up hastily from the pile upon the floor.
"Good-morning," said Ordway, a little surprised; "it looks as if I'd put the fiery Major to flight."
"Smith," said Baxter, dropping his paper, and lifting his big, simple face to the younger man, "Smith, you've got me into a hole, and I want you to pull me out again."