At Auntie Belle's he
changed his clothes. The next morning he caught the stage, and by the
day following walked up the main street of Fremont.
He had no trouble in finding Baker's office. The Sycamore Creek
operations were one group of many. As one of Baker's companies furnished
Fremont with light and power, it followed that at night the name of that
company blazed forth in thousands of lights. The sign was not the less
legible, though not so fiery, by day. Bob walked into extensive
ground-floor offices behind plate-glass windows. Here were wickets and
railings through which and over which the public business was
transacted. A narrow passageway sidled down between the wall and a row
of ground-glass doors, on which were lettered the names of various
officers of the company. At a swinging bar separating this passage from
the main office sat a uniformed boy directing and stamping envelopes.
Bob wrote his name on a blank form offered by this youth. The young man
gazed at it a moment superciliously, then sauntered with an air of great
leisure down the long corridor. He reappeared after a moment's absence
behind the last door, to return with considerably more alacrity.
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