Broffin's grin this time was wholly of appreciation.
"You're the right kind—the kind that leads trumps all the while, Miss Grierson," he told her. Then he did the manly thing. "I'll go into this, just as you say—what? But it's only fair to warn you that it may turn up some things that'll feaze you. You know that old sayin' about sleepin' dogs?"
Miss Grierson was gathering the reins over the little Morgan's back and her black eyes snapped.
"This is one time when we are going to kick the dogs and make them wake up," she returned. "Good-by, Mr. Broffin."
XXXIII
GATES OF BRASS
It was an hour beyond the normal quitting time on the day of ultimatums and counter-threatenings, the small office force had gone home, and the night squad of deputies had come to relieve the day guard. Griswold closed the spare desk in the manager's room and twirled his chair to face Raymer.
"We may as well go and get something to eat," he suggested. "There will be nothing doing to-night."