“Don’t ask him, Lou,” cried Tiffany, “don’t ask him. If we smash, it won’t be your fault. Ain’t that right, Paul?”
“Yes,” replied Carhart, “it is just right. Don’t ask any questions, Peet, and don’t give me away. I don’t want any swearing in Sherman to-morrow. I don’t want a whisper of this to get out for a week—not for a month if we can keep it under.”
Tiffany quieted down; grew thoughtful. “It will take a lot of men, Paul. How can you prevent a leak?”
“I’m going to take them all West with me afterward.”
“I see. That’s right—that’s right! And the station agents and train crews and switchmen—yes, I see. You’ll take ’em all.”
“Every man,” replied Carhart, quietly.
“If necessary, you’ll take ’em under guard.”
Carhart smiled a very little. “If necessary,” he replied.
“You’ll want some good men,” mused Tiffany. “I’ll tell you,—suppose you leave that part of it to me. It’s now,—let’s see,—seven-forty. It won’t be any use starting your first train until you’ve got the men to do the work. I’ll need a little time, but if you’ll give me an hour and half to two hours, say until nine-thirty, I’ll have your outfit ready. I’ll send some of my assistants along with you, and a bunch of our brakemen and switchmen. There’ll be the commissariat to look out for too,—you see to all that, Lou, will you?”