"I shall want some empty cars of you people this fall," he explained."I'm a hop-raiser now, and I just want to make sure what your rates on hops are.I've been told, but I want to make sure.Savvy?" There was a long delay while the clerk consulted the tariff schedules, and Annixter fretted impatiently.Dyke, growing uneasy, leaned heavily on his elbows, watching the clerk anxiously.If the tariff was exorbitant, he saw his plans brought to naught, his money jeopardised, the little tad, Sidney, deprived of her education.He began to blame himself that he had not long before determined definitely what the railroad would charge for moving his hops.He told himself he was not much of a business man; that he managed carelessly.
"Two cents," suddenly announced the clerk with a certain surly indifference.
"Two cents a pound?"
"Yes, two cents a pound--that's in car-load lots, of course.Iwon't give you that rate on smaller consignments.""Yes, car-load lots, of course...two cents.Well, all right."He turned away with a great sigh of relief.
"He sure did have me scared for a minute," he said to Annixter, as the two went down to the street, "fiddling and fussing so long.Two cents is all right, though.Seems fair to me.That fiddling of his was all put on.I know 'em, these railroad heelers.He knew I was a discharged employee first off, and he played the game just to make me seem small because I had to ask favours of him.I don't suppose the General Office tips its slavees off to act like swine, but there's the feeling through the whole herd of them.'Ye got to come to us.We let ye live only so long as we choose, and what are ye going to do about it?
If ye don't like it, git out.'"
Annixter and the engineer descended to the street and had a drink at the Yosemite bar, and Annixter went into the General Store while Dyke bought a little pair of red slippers for Sidney.
Before the salesman had wrapped them up, Dyke slipped a dime into the toe of each with a wink at Annixter.
"Let the little tad find 'em there," he said behind his hand in a hoarse whisper."That'll be one on Sid.""Where to now?" demanded Annixter as they regained the street.
"I'm going down to the Post Office and then pull out for the ranch.Going my way?"Dyke hesitated in some confusion, tugging at the ends of his fine blonde beard.
"No, no.I guess I'll leave you here.I've got--got other things to do up the street.So long."The two separated, and Annixter hurried through the crowd to the Post Office, but the mail that had come in on that morning's train was unusually heavy.It was nearly half an hour before it was distributed.Naturally enough, Annixter placed all the blame of the delay upon the railroad, and delivered himself of some pointed remarks in the midst of the waiting crowd.He was irritated to the last degree when he finally emerged upon the sidewalk again, cramming his mail into his pockets.One cause of his bad temper was the fact that in the bundle of Quien Sabe letters was one to Hilma Tree in a man's handwriting.
"Huh!" Annixter had growled to himself, "that pip Delaney.Seems now that I'm to act as go-between for 'em.Well, maybe that feemale girl gets this letter, and then, again, maybe she don't."But suddenly his attention was diverted.Directly opposite the Post Office, upon the corner of the street, stood quite the best business building of which Bonneville could boast.It was built of Colusa granite, very solid, ornate, imposing.Upon the heavy plate of the window of its main floor, in gold and red letters, one read the words: "Loan and Savings Bank of Tulare County." It was of this bank that S.Behrman was president.At the street entrance of the building was a curved sign of polished brass, fixed upon the angle of the masonry; this sign bore the name, "S.
Behrman," and under it in smaller letters were the words, "Real Estate, Mortgages."As Annixter's glance fell upon this building, he was surprised to see Dyke standing upon the curb in front of it, apparently reading from a newspaper that he held in his hand.But Annixter promptly discovered that he was not reading at all.From time to time the former engineer shot a swift glance out of the corner of his eye up and down the street.Annixter jumped at a conclusion.
An idea suddenly occurred to him.Dyke was watching to see if he was observed--was waiting an opportunity when no one who knew him should be in sight.Annixter stepped back a little, getting a telegraph pole somewhat between him and the other.Very interested, he watched what was going on.Pretty soon Dyke thrust the paper into his pocket and sauntered slowly to the windows of a stationery store, next the street entrance of S.
Behrman's offices.For a few seconds he stood there, his back turned, seemingly absorbed in the display, but eyeing the street narrowly nevertheless; then he turned around, gave a last look about and stepped swiftly into the doorway by the great brass sign.He disappeared.Annixter came from behind the telegraph pole with a flush of actual shame upon his face.There had been something so slinking, so mean, in the movements and manner of this great, burly honest fellow of an engineer, that he could not help but feel ashamed for him.Circumstances were such that a simple business transaction was to Dyke almost culpable, a degradation, a thing to be concealed.
