"Good morning, Mr. McChesney," he made answer smoothly. Mack
never forgot himself. His keen eye saw the little halo of
self-satisfaction that hovered above Jock McChesney's head. "A
successful trip, I see."
Jock McChesney laughed a little, pleased, conscious laugh. "Well,
raw-thah!" he drawled, and opened the door leading into the main
office. He had been loath to lose one crumb of the savor of it.
[Illustration: "'Well, raw-thah!' he drawled"]
Still smiling, he walked to his own desk, with a nod here and
there, dropped his bag, took off coat and hat, selected a
cigarette, tapped it smartly, lighted it, and was off down the big
room to the little cubby-hole at the other end. But Sam Hupp's
plump, keen, good-humored face did not greet him as he entered.
The little room was deserted. Frowning, Jock sank into the empty
desk chair. He cradled his head in his hands, tilted the chair,
pursed his mouth over the slender white cylinder and squinted his
eyes up toward the lazy blue spirals of smoke--the very picture
of content and satisfaction.
Hupp was in attending some conference in the Old Man's office, of
course. He wished they'd hurry. The business of the week was being
boiled-down there.
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