opened this smaller
door and entered the long, narrow store. Its sides and walls were
covered with bins and racks containing sample steel rails and iron
beams, and coils of wire of various sizes. Down at the end of the store
were desks where several clerks and book-keepers were at work.

As the messenger drew near, a red-headed office-boy blocked the
passage, saying, somewhat aggressively, "Well?"

"Got a telegram for Whittier, Wheatcroft & Co.," the messenger
explained, pugnaciously thrusting himself forward.

"In there!" the office-boy returned, jerking his thumb over his
shoulder towards the extreme end of the building, an extension, roofed
with glass and separated by a glass screen from the space where the
clerks were at work.

The messenger pushed open the glazed door of this private office, a
bell jingled over his head, and the three occupants of the room looked
up.

"Whittier, Wheatcroft & Co.?" said the messenger, interrogatively,
holding out the yellow envelope.

"Yes," responded Mr. Whittier, a tall, handsome old gentleman, taking
the telegram. "You sign, Paul."

The youngest of the three, looking like his father, took the
messenger's book, and, glancing at an old-fashioned clock which stood
in the corner, he wrote the name of the firm and the hour of delivery.
He was watching the messenger go out. His attention was suddenly called
to subjects of more importance by a sharp exclamation from his father.

"Well, well, well," said the elder Whittier with his eyes fixed on the
telegram he had just read. "This is very strange--very strange indeed!"

"What's strange?" asked the third occupant of the office, Mr.
Wheatcroft, a short, stout, irascible-looking man with a shock of
grizzly hair.

For all answer Mr. Whittier handed to Mr. Wheatcroft the thin slip of
paper.

No sooner had the junior partner read the paper than he seemed angrier
than was usual with him.

"Strange!" he cried. "I should think it was strange! confoundedly
strange--and deuced unpleasant, too."

"May I see what it is that's so very strange?" asked Paul, picking up
the despatch.

"Of course you may see it," growled Mr. Wheatcroft; "and let us see
what you can make of it."

The young man read the message aloud: "Deal off. Can get quarter cent
better terms. Carkendale."

Then he read it again to himself. At last he said, "I confess I don't
see anything so very mysterious in that. We've lost a contract, I
suppose; but that must