said he'd buy some of our stock. He seems to think we have a pretty
good show."

Newmark paused, his potato half-way to his plate.

"Kind of him," said he after a moment. "Did he sign a contract?"

"It wasn't made out," Orde reminded him. "I've the memoranda here.
We'll make it out to-night. I am to bring it in Monday."

"I see we're hung up here over Sunday," observed Newmark. "No
Sunday trains to Redding."

Orde became grave.

"I know it. I tried to hurry matters to catch the six o'clock, but
couldn't make it." His round, jolly face fell sombre, as though a
light within had been extinguished. After a moment the light
returned. "Can't be helped," said he philosophically.

They ate hungrily, then drifted out into the office again, where
Orde lit a cigar.

"Now, let's see your memoranda," said Newmark.

He frowned over the three simple items for some time.

"It's got me," he confessed at last.

"What?" inquired Orde.