For a paragraph she still held his hand. Then he felt the parting pressure of her fingers and her whispered good night.
“Good night, little woman,” he answered mechanically, and continued dictating as if oblivious to her going.
Nor did he cease until he knew she was well out of hearing.
Chapter XXVIII
A dozen times that morning, dictating to Blake or indicating answers, Dick had been on the verge of saying to let the rest of the correspondence go.
“Call up Hennessy and Mendenhall,” he told Blake, when, at ten, the latter gathered up his notes and rose to go. “You ought to catch them at the stallion barn. Tell them not to come this morning but to-morrow morning.”
Bonbright entered, prepared to shorthand Dick’s conversations with his managers for the next hour.
“And—oh, Mr. Blake,” Dick called. “Ask Hennessy about Alden Bessie.— The old mare was pretty bad last night,” he explained to Bonbright.
“Mr. Hanley must see you right away, Mr. Forrest,” Bonbright said, and added, at sight of the irritated drawing up of his employer’s brows, “It’s the piping from Buckeye Dam. Something’s wrong with the plans—a serious mistake, he says.”
Dick surrendered, and for an hour discussed ranch business with his foremen and managers.