greasy fried potatoes off his plate, and he grew hot under the stern
gaze of the girl, who reappeared with some coffee he had not ordered.

"Perhaps you had better take it away before I do more damage, and let
me have some fish," he said humbly.

"Another time you'll say what you want at first. You can't prospect
right through the menu," she rebuked him.

In the meanwhile George had been describing his companions on the train
to one of the men opposite.

"He told me he was located in the district, but I didn't learn his
name, and he didn't get off here," he explained. "Do you know him?"

"Sure," said the other. "It's Alan Grant, of Poplar, 'bout eighteen
miles back. Guess he went on to the next station--a little farther,
but it's easier driving, now they're dumping straw on the trail."

"Putting straw on the road?" Edgar broke in. "Why are they doing that?"

"You'll see, if you drive out north," the man answered shortly. Then
he turned to his better-dressed companion. "What are you going to do
with that carload of lumber we got for Grant?"

"Send the car on to Benton."

"She's billed here."

"Can't help that--the road's mistake. Grant ordered all his stuff to