“All ready?” asked Bowen. “Then shoot!”
“My dear Judge:
“I’m here in the big town and having the time of my life. Them are the exact words. I yesterday met your erstwhile stenographer, Miss Ferguson, who has an office of her own and deserves it. I don’t know of any one I’d sooner have met—”
Bowen paused, meeting the girl’s eyes on his. “That’s all right,” he said hurriedly. “I’m writing the judge. Confidential letter. Go ahead!”
Smiling a little, the girl leaned forward. At that instant, however, the office door opened and a man appeared framed in the opening. Bowen gave him a casual glance. Miss Ferguson looked up and smiled—a bit frostily.
“I’ll be through this letter in a moment,” she said, “and shall be at liberty then. Just take a chair, please. Yes, Mr. Bowen?”
“Paragraph,” said Bowen, now staring past her at the window. He was conscious that the stranger had taken a chair. “You got that property location all straight now?”
Miss Ferguson glanced up quickly, caught Bowen’s vacant expression, and smothered the surprise in her eyes. “Yes,” she said. “All ready.”
Bowen proceeded with his dictation, apparently ignoring the listener.
“For these two holdings of mine—the Sunburst and the Golden Lode—I want more money than has been offered me as yet. They are, of course, low-grade ore, and if I can get rid of them at a reasonable figure, I shall do so at once.
“However, I have an appointment with Mr. Dickover at ten o’clock, and have good reason to believe—”
There came a sudden interruption—from the stranger.