Quin was in no way involved in the transaction; but, as usual, he had an
emphatic opinion, which he did not hesitate to express.
"I don't know what's got into Dirk!" he said indignantly to Mr. Shields,
the traffic manager, as they left the office together. "He knows the
injury to the armature was done in our shop and that we are responsible
for it."
"I guess Dirk's like the rest of us," said Shields bitterly; "he knows a
lot he can't tell."
"What do you mean? Do you think it was a frame-up?"
"Well, we don't call it that. But when the boss gets in a hole,
somebody's got to pull him out. I'm getting mighty sick of it myself.
Wish to the Lord I could pull up stakes as Mr. Bartlett and Mr. Chester
did."
It was not until they separated that Quin's thoughts left the disturbing
events of the day and flew to something more pleasing. For two weeks now
he had had to content himself with chance interviews with Eleanor, meager
diet for a person with an omnivorous appetite; but to-night there was the
prospect for a long, uninterrupted evening. Since the day of Miss Enid's
wedding he had found her perplexed and absent-minded; but the fact that
she always had a smile for him, and that nothing was seen or heard of
Harold Phipps, sufficed to satisfy him.
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