CHAPTER XLV.
HE next morning when Garner reached the office, he found Carson surrounded by “the gang,” Blackburn was just leaving, his mild eyes fixed gloomily on the sidewalk, and Wade Tingle, Keith Gordon, and Bob Smith sat about the office with long-drawn, stoical faces.
“I was just telling Carson that it will be a walkover in court this morning,” Wade was saying, comfortingly, as Garner sat down at his desk, his great brow clouded. “Don't you think so, Garner?”
“Well, I'll tell you one thing, boys,” Garner answered, irritably, “it's too important a matter to make light over, and I want you fellows to clear out so we can get to work. I've got to talk to Carson, and I can't do it with so many here. I'm not accustomed to thinking with a crowd around.”
“You bet we'll skedaddle, then, old man,” said Keith; “but we'll be at the—the hearing.”
When they had gone droopingly out, Carson came from the window at which he had been standing and looked Garner over, noting with surprise that the lower parts of the legs of his partner's trousers were dusty and his boots unpolished. The shirt Garner wore had sleeves that were too long for his arms, and a pair of soiled cuffs covered more than half of the small hands. His standing collar had become crumpled, and his ever-present black silk necktie, with its unshapely bow and brown, frayed edges, had slipped out of place. His hair was awry, his whole manner nervous and excitable.