“Hullo!  Hullo!” roared Plant in his biggest voice.  “So here we are, hey!  Kind of dry, hot travel, but we’ve got the remedy for that.”

“How are you?” said Thorne crisply; “are you Mr. Plant?  Glad to meet you.”

“Leave your truck,” said Plant.  “I’ll send some one after it.  Come right along with me.”

“Thanks,” said Thorne, “but I think I’ll take a wash and clean up a bit, first.”

“That’s all right,” urged Plant.  “We can fix you up.”

“Where is the hotel?” asked Thorne.

“Hotel!” cried Plant, “ain’t you going to stay with me?”

“It is kind of you, and I appreciate it,” said Thorne briefly, “but I never mix official business with social pleasure.  This is an invariable rule and has no personal application, of course.  After my official work is done and my report written, I shall be happy to avail myself of your hospitality.”

“Just as you say, of course,” said Plant, quite good-humouredly.  To him this was an extraordinarily shrewd, grand-stand play; and he approved of it.

“I shall go to your office at nine to-morrow,” Thorne advised him.  “Please have your records ready.”

“Always ready,” said Plant.

Thorne was assigned a room at Auntie Belle’s, washed away the dust of travel, and appeared promptly at table when the bell rang.  He wore an ordinary business suit, a flannel shirt with white collar, and hung on the nail a wide felt hat.  Nevertheless his general air was of an out-of-door man, competent and skilled in the open.  His manner was self-contained and a trifle reserved, although he talked freely enough with Bob on a variety of subjects.

After supper he retired to his room, the door of which, however, he left open.  Any one passing down the narrow hallway could have seen him bent over a mass of papers on the table, his portable typewriter close at hand.

The following morning, armed with a little hand satchel, he tramped down to Henry Plant’s house.  The Supervisor met him on the verandah.

“Right on deck!” he roared jovially.  “Come in!  All ready for the doctor!”

Thorne did not respond to this jocosity.

“Good morning,” he said formally, and that was all.

Plant led the way into his office, thrust forward a chair, waved a comprehensive hand toward the filing cases, over the bill files, at the tabulated reports laid out on the desk.

“Go to it,” said he cheerfully.  “Have a cigar!  Everything’s all ready.”

Thorne laid aside his broad hat, and at once with keen concentration attacked the tabulations.  Plant sat back watching him.  Occasionally the fat man yawned.  When Thorne had digested the epitome of the financial end, he reached for the bundles of documents.

“That’s just receipts and requisitions,” said Plant, “and such truck.  It’ll take you an hour to wade through that stuff.”

“Any objections to my doing so?” asked Thorne.