Ryder smiled cynically.
“I sha'n't. I have it in for the manager, anyhow.”
“What's wrong with him?”
“Oh, nothing, but a whole lot,” answered Griff, with apparent indifference.
At this juncture Dr. Emory crossed the square from the post-office and paused in front of the Herald building.
“How's Dr. Emory?” said Kenyon, by way of greeting.
Ryder had risen.
“Won't you come in and sit down, doctor?” he inquired.
“No, no. Keep your seat, Griff. I merely strolled over to say how d'ye do?”
Kenyon shot past the doctor a discolored stream. That gentleman moved uneasily to one side.