It was ten o'clock that night when he got into Calexico and went to the hotel.
As the clerk gave him the key to his room, he also handed him a letter, saying:
"A special delivery that came for you an hour ago; I signed for it."
Bob's fingers shook slightly as he took it. Glancing swiftly at the corner of the envelope he read:
DILLENBECK WATER CO.
CHAPTER XXII
Reedy Jenkins, the first night of August, sat in his office, the windows open, the door open, the neck of his soft shirt open, and his low shoes kicked off. But his plump, pink face was freshly shaven and massaged and he wore two-dollar silk socks. Even in dishabille Reedy had an air of ready money.
There had been dark days last fall when he had been so closely cornered by his creditors that it took many a writhe and a wriggle to get through. Nobody but himself, unless it was the dour Tom Barton, knew how overwhelmingly he was bankrupt.
But Reedy had kept up an affable front to all his creditors and a ready explanation. "We are all broke, everybody in same boat. Why sweat over it? Of course I've got some cotton across the line; we'll just leave it there and save the duty until it'll sell. Then I'll pay out."