To reach them Bob rode
across the plateau of the ridge, through the pine forests, past the
mill.
Here, if the afternoon was not too far advanced, he used to allow
himself the luxury of a moment's chat with some of his old friends.
Welton, coat off, his burly face perspiring and red, always greeted him
jovially.
"Spend all your salary this month?" he would ask. "Does the business
keep you occupied?" And once or twice, seriously, "Bob, haven't you had
enough of this confounded nonsense? You're getting too old to find any
great fun riding around in this kid fashion pretending to do things.
There's big business to be done in this country, and we need you boys to
help. When I was a youngster I'd have jumped hard at half the chance
that's offered you."
But Bob never would answer seriously. He knew this to be his only chance
of avoiding even a deeper misunderstanding between himself and this man
whom he had learned to admire and love.
Once he met Baker. That young man greeted him as gaily as ever, but into
his manner had crept the shadow of a cold contempt. The stout youth's
standards were his own, and rigid, as is often the case with people of
his type.
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