"We've got the year's contract for coal at the fort," continued
Crane. "The quarter-master-sergeant who inspects it--Sergeant
Duffy--has a friend named McGaw who wants to do the unloading into
the government bins. There's a low price on the coal, and there's
no margin for anybody; and if Duffy should kick about the quality
of the coal,--and you can't please these fellows if they want to
be ugly,--Crane & Co. will be in a hole, and lose money on the
contract. I hate to go back on Tom Grogan, but there's no help
for it. The ten cents a ton I'd save if she hauls the coal
instead of McGaw would be eaten up in Duffy's short weights and
rejections. I sent Sergeant Duffy's letter to her, so she can
tell how the land lies, and I'm going up now to her house to see
her, on my way to the fort. I don't know what Duffy will get out
of it; perhaps he gets a few dollars out of the hauling. The coal
is shipped, by the way, and ought to be here any minute."

"Wait; I'll go with you," said Babcock, handing him an order for
more coal. "She hasn't sent down the tally-sheet for my last
scow." There was not the slightest necessity, of course, for
Babcock to go to Grogan's house for this document.

As they walked on, Crane talked of everything except what was
uppermost in Babcock's mind. Babcock tried to lead the
conversation back to Tom, but Crane's thoughts were on something
else.

When they reached the top of the hill, the noble harbor lay spread
out beneath them, from the purple line of the great cities to the
silver sheen of the sea inside the narrows. The clearing wind had
hauled to the northwest. The sky was heaped with soft clouds