Steve's next remark brought
Allison's head up sharply.
"I meant to bring some of my estimates and plans down with me, when I
came," he told him. "You spoke of wanting to run over the whole
proposition with me, you'll remember, the first day you arrived."
Allison nodded shortly.
"I remember."
"I'll bring them, next trip," Steve finished. "I came so near to
losing them last night that I'm taking no chances until they're in
duplicate. We can run over them later?"
Allison wheeled and gazed meditatingly toward the group who were slowly
moving their way. His daughter Barbara, with Wickersham at her side,
was in the lead.
"Any time," he agreed. "There's no particular hurry."
And then a moment later, just when she was beginning to wonder whether
he was purposely avoiding her, Barbara was surprised at the calm ease
with which Steve took her away from her tall escort. She had noticed
that Wickersham and Steve had not touched hands when they first met, an
hour or two before, nor even hinted at such a salute. But now, as
earlier in the day when her dash toward the stables had left him
standing rigid in the middle of the lawn, she failed to see the
expression that settled upon Wickersham's long face. It was Dexter
Allison this time who noticed it, and hours later, when he and
Wickersham sat and faced each other in the downstairs room in the house
on the hill, which served as Allison's office, he remembered and
recognized it.
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