The request for the retracing orders was sent from Coquina; and when it came clicking into the despatcher's office at Denver, a sleep-sodden young man with an extinct cigar between his teeth rose up out of his chair, stretched, yawned, and pointed for the door.
"Going to leave us, Mr. Eckstein?" said the trick despatcher who was sitting at the train table.
"Yes. If Mr. Ford has changed his mind, I may as well go home and go to bed."
"Reckon he forgot something, and has to come back after it?" laughed the operator.
"Maybe," said the private secretary, and he went out, shutting the door behind him with the bat-like softness and precision that was his distinguishing characteristic.
The sounders were clicking monotonously when the trick man turned to the relief operator who was checking Darby's transfer sheet.
"What do you suppose Eckstein was up to, sitting here all night, Jim?"
"Give it up," said the relief man. "Ask me something easy."
"I'll bet a hen worth fifty dollars I can guess. He didn't want Mr. Ford to make time."
The relief man looked up from his checking.