“Well, Grey,” he grumbled, “what’s the lay now?”
Five hours before I would have snapped back a sharp retort and seen him to the deuce, but things glowed different now.
“Why, chief,” I replied, with a laugh, “I just came back because I think you’ll want me now. You see, I’ve sworn off—losing my temper.”
He stopped short before me and shot me a glance.
“You mean it?” said he. “Because if you do,” he went on, “I believe you. The one thing that has always struck me about your past offenses is—that you never have promised to do better in the future. And, strange as it may seem,” he chuckled, “that’s the very reason I put up with you so long.”
“Well, I mean it now,” said I simply.
My tone must have carried complete conviction, for his manner abruptly changed.
“Sit down,” said he suddenly, and we faced each other over his broad, flat-top desk. “It just happens at this moment that I do need you, Grey; and need you pretty bad, too; for I’ve just been put in line with a thing that already got beyond Pawlinson, of Washington.”
“Yes?” said I, catching fire at the interest.
“The affair was important enough to warrant Pawlinson taking the trail himself; and it certainly has led him a pretty dance during the two days he’s been at it.”