“Call up Hennessy and Mendenhall,” he told Blake, when, at ten, the latter gathered up his notes and rose to go. “You ought to catch them at the stallion barn. Tell them not to come this morning but to-morrow morning.”

 

Bonbright entered, prepared to shorthand Dick’s conversations with his managers for the next hour.

 

“And—­oh, Mr. Blake,” Dick called. “Ask Hennessy about Alden Bessie.—­ The old mare³ was pretty bad last night,” he explained to Bonbright.

 

“Mr. Hanley must see you right away, Mr. Forrest,” Bonbright said, and added, at sight of the irritated drawing up of his employer’s brows, “It’s the piping from Buckeye Dam. Something’s wrong with the plans—­a serious mistake, he says.”

 

Dick surrendered, and for an hour discussed ranch⁴ business with his foremen and managers.

 

Once, in the middle of a hot discussion over sheep-dips with Wardman, he left his desk and paced over to the window. The sound of voices and horses, and of Paula’s laugh, had attracted him.

 

“Take that Montana report—­I’ll send you a copy to-day,” he continued, as he gazed out. “They found the formula didn’t get down to it. It was more a sedative⁵ than a germicide. There wasn’t enough kick in it...”

 

Four horses, bunched, crossed his field of vision. Paula, teasing the pair of them, was between Martinez and Froelig, old friends of Dick, a painter and sculptor⁶ respectively, who had arrived on an early train. Graham, on Selim, made the fourth, and was slightly edged toward the rear. So the party went by, but Dick reflected that quickly enough it would resolve itself into two and two.

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