“I wish you'd watch him, Bridge. There's a deal on, and Frederick McNally is the other party. He's for C. & S.C. of course. Do you know him?”
Bridge shook his head.
“Well, never mind. I'll watch him. But you worry Blaney. He's a little rattled now,—I reckon McNally's soaked him,—and if you're careful you ought to find out something. I want to know just how they've fixed it.”
Bridge nodded.
“I'll keep an eye on him.”
“Well,”—Jim rose,—“I've got a train to catch. Good-by.”
He drove rapidly to the station; the agent hurried toward him as he pulled up at the platform.
“I only got your message this minute, Mr. Weeks,” he said; “there isn't a car in the yards.”
“What's that?” Jim looked at his watch. “Got an engine?”
“Only the switch engine.”