Carhart stopped short, plunged in thought. “Maybe you’re right,” he said after a moment. “I hadn’t thought of that before.”
“No, you oughtn’t to have to think of it. That’s our business, but it’s been worrying us considerable. Then there’s the connections, too. The rails have to come into Sherman by way of the Queen and Cumberland,—a long way ‘round—”
“And the Queen and Cumberland has ‘Commodore Durfee’ written all over it.”
“Yes, I guess it has.”
“And knowing that, you fellows have been sitting around waiting for the Commodore to deliver your material. No, Tiffany, don’t tell me that; I hate to think it of you.”
“I know we’re a pack of fools, Carhart, but—” the sentence died out. “But what can we do, man? We can’t draw a new map of the United States, can we? We’ve got our orders from the old man—!”
“‘Look here, Tiffany,’ Carhart began, ‘something’s going to happen to this man Peet.’”
“Could you have the stuff sent around by the Coast and Crescent, and transferred over to Sherman by wagon?”
“Wait a minute; who owns the Coast and Crescent? Who’s got it all buttoned up in his pants pocket?”