“Mine either,” said Newmark. “We'll just have to let them go and drive ahead without them. I only hope they won't spread the idea. Better get those other contracts signed up as soon as we can.”
With this object in view, Orde started out early the next morning, carrying with him the duplicate contracts on which Newmark had been busy.
“Rope 'em in,” advised Newmark. “It's Saturday, and we don't want to let things simmer over Sunday, if we can help it.”
About eleven o'clock a clerk of the Welton Lumber Co. entered Mr. Welton's private office to deliver to Orde a note.
“This just came by special messenger,” he explained.
Orde, with an apology, tore it open. It was from Heinzman, and requested an immediate interview. Orde delayed only long enough to get Mr. Welton's signature, then hastened as fast as his horse could take him across the drawbridge to the village.
Heinzman he found awaiting him. The little German, with his round, rosy cheeks, his dot of a nose, his big spectacles, and his rotund body, looked even more than usual like a spider or a Santa Clause—Orde could not decide which.
“I haf been thinking of that bond,” he began, waving a pudgy hand toward a seat, “and I haf been talking with Proctor.”
“Yes,” said Orde hopefully.
“I suppose you would not be prepared to gif a bond?”