"How's it any better than the Climax?" the purchasing agent asked insistently.
"I don't know anything about the Climax. What's the matter with Star?"
Bushfield scratched his chin thoughtfully for a moment.
"I haven't got anything against Star. What I want to know is what you have got against Climax?"
The smooth, guttural tones of the purchasing agent gave the architect no cause for suspicion, and he was dull enough not to see what was in the air.
"It would take time to try a new cement properly," he answered.
The purchasing agent picked up his morning cigar, rolled it around in his mouth, and puffed before he replied:—
"I don't mind telling you that it means something to me to have Climax used at Eversley. It's just as good as any cement on the market. I give you my word for that. I take it you're a good friend of mine. I wish you would see if you can't use the Climax."
Then they talked of other matters. When Hart got back to the office he looked up the Climax cement in a trade catalogue. There were hundreds of brands on the market, and the Climax was one of the newest. Horace Bushfield, he reflected, was Colonel Raymond's son-in-law. If he wished to do the Popover station, he should remain on good terms with the purchasing agent of the road. Some time that day he got out the type-written specifications for the railroad work, and in the section on the cement work he inserted neatly in ink the words, "Or a cement of equal quality approved by the architect."
He had scarcely time to digest this when not many days later the purchasing agent telephoned to him:—