"Well?" asked Abe impatiently. "Isn't it all right?"
"It's all right, Mr. Lee, except that we were forced to answer that we could not handle the business."
The surveyor searched his pockets for tobacco and cigarette papers. "I think you'd better explain, Mr. Williams."
Again the cashier hesitated, turning thoughtfully to the telegram on his desk. Then he said reluctantly: "It is Mr. Greenfield's orders, Lee."
With a cloud of smoke from Abe's lips came the question: "And the other banks in the Basin?"
"You would only waste your time."
"Thanks, Williams. Adios."
Abe Lee walked slowly out of the building. Moving aimlessly down the street, unseeing and unheeding, he ran fairly into Pat and Texas, who were talking with a rancher from the South Central District.
The voice of the Irishman aroused him. "Fwhat the hell! Is ut dhrunk ye are?" Then, as he caught a good look at the surveyor's face—"For the love av Gawd, fwhat's wrong wid ye, lad?"
The rancher also was looking at him curiously. Abe gained control of himself instantly with an apologetic laugh. "Excuse me, Pat. I was thinking about the work and didn't see you. There's a little matter that I want to take up with you this afternoon. I'll be too busy for it to-morrow."