"Now, what's
all this row that you wired us about?"
"Will you come down to the water, and go out with me to look at the
damage, sir?" asked Tom, as he took the president's reluctantly offered
hand.
"No," grunted Mr. Bascomb. "Let me hear the story first. Come inside
and tell me about it."
"Our friend is not quite so gracious as he has been on former meetings,"
thought Tom, as he led the way inside. "I wonder if he is going to get
cranky?"
Inside was a little office room, as in the foremen's barracks.
"Any decent cigars here?" questioned Mr. Bascomb, after exploring his own
pockets and finding them innocent of tobacco.
"No, sir," Tom answered. "No one here smokes."
"I've got to have a cigar," the president of the company insisted.
"Then, sir, if you'll give Nicolas your orders, he'll run over to Blixton
and get you what you want."
The Mexican departed in haste on the errand.
"Now, first of all, Reade," began the president, "I am disgusted at
learning of one fool mistake that you've made."
"What is that, sir?" Tom asked, coloring.
"I've just learned that you discharged Evarts---one of our best and most
useful men."
"I did discharge him, sir," Reade admitted.
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