d and replaced a truant lock.

"I am Dickie Lang," she announced simply. Shoving the automatic into her
coat pocket, she extended her hand. "I knew your father well. I am glad
to meet you."

The frankness of the words was strengthened by the look of sincerity in
the brown eyes as she stood calmly looking him over.

Gregory curbed his surprise with an effort which left him staring at the
girl in awkward silence. When he had thought of Lang's daughter at all,
it had been only in the most abstract way. He had regarded her only a
possible and very probable source of trouble, scarcely as a flesh and
blood woman at all. Never a girl like this.

He wakened to the fact that he was a very stupid host. Barnes, after
staring at Dickie Lang for a moment, had retired to his work, leaving
Gregory alone with his guest in the middle of the receiving floor.

"Won't you come into the office?"

The words came hesitatingly. He nodded in the direction of the
screen-door.

"Yes. I would like to talk with you."

Again the direct straightforward manner of speaking. Dickie Lang started
at once for the office, walking across the floor with quick impatient
steps. Gregory held the door open and as the girl brushed by him, he saw
her flash a glance to the door of his father's office beyond. He led the
way in silence to the room where he had been working and waited for his
visitor to be seated.

Dickie Lang's eyes roved swiftly about the room, taking in the familiar
details. Nothing had been changed. She could see her father leaning
against the desk, his great shoulders hunched forward, his big hands
nervously toying with the glass paper-weight, his blue eyes fixed upon
the silent figure in the swivel-chair. Again she could hear the voice of
Richard Gregory:

"All right, Bill. I'll see you through. Go ahead and get the boats."

Dickie realized with a start that the square-jawed, black-eyed young man
before her was Richard Gregory's son. The past faded away. With simple
directness she plunged into the object of her visit.

"I've brought the money due on the boats. Got into a squabble with the
markets and they tied me up for a few days. Otherwise I would have been
here sooner."

Thrusting her hand into her pocket, she drew out a roll of bills and
began to count them.

Gregory watched her as she thumbed the bank-notes. The dark brown
corduroy was simply, if mannishly cut, and in a way it became her. Her
small feet and rounded ankles w