So he went.
“Had a letter from the company today,” Pilchard observed, suddenly.
“That so?”
“They’re going to send a fellow down from Frisco on the steamer that touches on the 25th. Everything plays into their hands. Steamer reaches here the day the contract expires.”
“Well, that’s all right.”
“They request that I meet the fellow and show him around.”
“That’s easy, too.”
Pilchard breathed smoke through his nose in his self-possessed way, and said nothing more, until Swan suddenly broke out:
“Well, I for one won’t be sorry to get out of this hole. I’ll get the job done, of course, but we’ve just had a terrible setback. I think Peele’s dying.”