“I wonder if Lemly is with this fellow?” whispered Halstead to his employer.
“I’m going beyond that, and wondering what 233 the whole fact of Dalton’s presence here can possibly mean,” replied Powell Seaton.
The office door from the corridor opened again. Through the doorway and across the office floor stepped, with half-mincing gait, a young, fair-haired man who, very plainly, had devoted much attention to his attire.
“Where is Mr. Dalton?” demanded this immaculate youth, in a soft, rather effeminate voice that made Halstead regard him with a look of disfavor.
“You’ll find him out on the porch, I think, Mr. Dawley,” answered the clerk.
“Oh, thank you, I’m sure,” replied the soft-voiced one. As though he were walking on eggs young Mr. Dawley turned, going toward the porch door.
“Oh, good morning, Dalton, dear fellow,” cried the fair-haired dandy, in the same soft voice, as he came upon Seaton’s enemy, who was walking up and down the porch utterly ignoring Hank Butts.
“Good morning, Dawley,” replied Dalton, looking more than a little bored by the interruption.
“Now, who and what, in the game, is Dalton’s Elizabeth-boy friend?” wondered Hank, eying the latest arrival.
“Have a cigarette, Dawley?” asked Dalton, 234 in a voice almost of irritation, as he held out his case.