“Glad to see you, old scout,” he cried, and shaking hands with Wix, pulled him into the room. “I felt as if the old homestead was no longer home when I didn’t find you here to-day. Sit down. What’ll you have to drink?”
“Wine, thanks,” replied Wix. “They’re getting it ready now. I gave them your order before I came up.”
Mr. Daw gasped and batted his eyes, but swallowed quickly and had it over with.
“You see,” explained Wix, as they seated themselves comfortably. “I thought, since we wouldn’t have time for many drinks, that we might just as well make it a good one. I brought up this timetable. There’s a train leaves for the East at five-thirty-seven this morning, and one leaves for the West at six-ten. Which are you going to take?”
“Why, neither one,” said Daw in some surprise. “I have some business here.”
“Yes,” admitted Wix dryly; “I just saw Gilman. Which train are you taking?”
“Neither, I said,” snapped Daw, frowning, “I don’t intend to leave here until I finish my work.”
“Oh, yes, you do,” Wix informed him. “You’re going about the time Gilman is washing his face for breakfast; and you won’t leave any word for him.”
“How do you know so well?” retorted Daw. “Look here, Mr. Wix, this proposition I’m offering Gilman is a fair and square—”