"You see, sir, we thought you was out West."

"So you did." Duncan moved toward the door of his own bedroom, Robbins
following.

"It was only yesterday I posted a letter to you for Mr. Kellogg, sir,
and the address was Omaha."

"I didn't get that far. Fetch along that suitcase, will you please? I
want to put some clean things in it."

"Then you're not staying in town over night, Mr. Duncan?"

"I don't know. I'm not staying here, anyway." Duncan switched on the
lights in his room. "Put it on the bed, Robbins. I'll pack as quickly
as I can. I'm in a hurry."

"Yes, sir, but--I hope there's nothing wrong?"

"Then you lose," returned Duncan grimly: "everything's wrong." He
jerked viciously at an obstinate bureau drawer, and when it yielded
unexpectedly with the well-known impishness of the inanimate, dumped
upon the floor a tangled miscellany of shirts, socks, gloves, collars
and ties.

"Didn't you like the business, sir?"

"No, I didn't like the business--and it didn't like me. It's the same
old story, Robbins. I've lost my job again--that's all."