For a brief period--perhaps five minutes--Buck had
staggered under the blow; then his tremendous optimism had asserted
itself, and while he packed his trunk, he had planned for the future.
As to how that future had developed, the reader will have gleaned
some slight idea from the information imparted in his letter to Bryce
Cardigan, already quoted. In a word, Mr. Ogilvy had had his ups and
downs.
Ogilvy's return to Sequoia following his three-weeks tour in search
of rights of way for the N. C. O. was heralded by a visit from him to
Bryce Cardigan at the latter's office. As he breasted the counter in
the general office, Moira McTavish left her desk and came over to see
what the visitor desired.
"I should like to see Mr. Bryce Cardigan," Buck began in crisp
businesslike accents. He was fumbling in his card-case and did not
look up until about to hand his card to Moira--when his mouth flew
half open, the while he stared at her with consummate frankness. The
girl's glance met his momentarily, then was lowered modestly; she
took the card and carried it to Bryce.
"Hum-m-m!" Bryce grunted. "That noisy fellow Ogilvy, eh?"
"His clothes are simply wonderful--and so is his voice. He's very
refined. But he's carroty red and has freckled hands, Mr. Bryce."
Bryce rose and sauntered into the general office.
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