"Just too late, wasn't I?" said Bannon. "That's hard luck." He went to the window and, staring out into the yards, began tapping idly with his pencil on the glass. The office door was open, and when he paused he heard the telegraph instrument just without, clicking out a message.
"Anything else I can do for you?" asked the superintendent. His good humor was returning at the sight of his visitor's perplexity.
"I wish you'd just wire the general manager once more and ask him if he can't possibly let us have those cars."
"All right," said the other, cheerfully. He nodded to the operator. "For the Ledyard Salt and Lumber Company," he said.
Bannon dropped into a chair, stretched himself, and yawned. "I'm sleepy," he said; "haven't had any sleep in three weeks. Lost thirty-two pounds. If you fellows had only got that cribbing down on time, I'd be having a vacation—"
Another yawn interrupted him. The telegraph receiver had begun giving out the general manager's answer.
Tell-Ledyard-we-hope-to-have-cars-in-a-few-days-
The superintendent looked at Bannon, expecting him to finish his sentence, but he only yawned again.
obey-previous-instructions.—Do-not-give-Ledyard-cars-in-any-case-
Bannon's eyes were half closed, but the superintendent thought he was turning a little toward the open doorway.