Allison’s brows knitted in quick anger, and then suddenly he startled the subway with its first loud laugh. He understood now, or thought he did, Gail’s distant attitude; but, knowing what was the matter, he could easily straighten it out.
“Thanks, Tim,” he chuckled. “Let’s talk business a minute. I had you hold up the Vedder Court condemnation because I got a new idea last night. Those buildings are unsafe.”
“Well, the building commissioners have to make a living,” considered Tim.
“That’s what I think,” agreed Allison.
Tim Corman looked up at him shrewdly out of his puffy slits of eyes, for a moment, and considered.
“I get you,” he said, and the business talk being concluded, Allison went forward.
“McCarthy,” he snapped, in a voice which grated; “what are all those boxes back in the beginning of the ‘Y’ of the West Docks branch?”
“Blasting material,” and McCarthy looked uncomfortable.
“Get it out,” ordered Allison, and returned to Tim.
The girls and Ted came back presently, and, with their arrival, Gail brought the Reverend Smith Boyd into the crowd, thereupon they resolved themselves into some appearance of sociability, and Allison, for the amusement of the company, slyly started old Tim Corman into a line of personal reminiscences, so replete in unconscious humour and so frank in unconscious disclosure of callous knavery, that the company needed no other entertainment.