Then he turned to his partner.
"Give me an hour," he begged.

"I 'll go then--but it takes a little grit to--" "Who's Fairchild here ?" A messenger boy was making his way along the curb with a telegram.

Robert stretched forth a hand in surprise.
"I am.

Why ?" The answer came as the boy shoved forth the yellow envelope and the delivery sheet.

Fairchild signed, then somewhat dazedly ran a finger under the slit of the envelope.