Bannon spread his legs apart and drummed on the front of his chair. "What's the other line?" he asked--"the four track line?" "That's the C. & S. C. We don't have nothing to do with them." They were both silent for a time. The flush had not left Peterson's face. His eyes were roving over the carpet, lifting now and then to Bannon's face with a quick glance. "Guess I'll shave," said Bannon. "Do you get hot water here?" "Why, I don't know," replied Peterson. "I generally use cold water. The folks here ain't very obliging. Kind o' poor, you know." Bannon was rummaging in his grip for his shaving kit. "You never saw a razor like that, Pete," he said. "Just heft it once." "Light, ain't it," said Peterson, taking it in his hand. "You bet it's light. And look here"--he reached for it and drew it back and forth over the palm of his hand--"that's the only stropping I ever give it." "Don't you have to hone it?" "No, sir; it's never been touched to a stone or leather. You just get up and try it once. Those whiskers of yours won't look any the worse for a chopping." Peterson laughed, and lathered his face, while Bannon put an edge on the razor, testing it with a hair. "Say, that's about the best yet," said Peterson, after the first stroke. "You're right it is." Bannon looked on for a few minutes, then he took a railroad "Pathfinder" from his grip and rapidly turned the pages. Peterson saw it in the mirror, and asked, between strokes:-- "What are you going to do?" "Looking up trains." While Peterson was splashing in the washbowl, Bannon took his turn at the mirror. "How's the Duluth job getting on?" asked Peterson, when Bannon had finished, and was wiping his razor. "All right--'most done. Just a little millwright work left, and some cleaning up." "There ain't any marine leg on the house, is there?" "No." "How big a house is it?" "Eight hundred thousand bushels." "That so? Ain't half as big as this one, is it?" "Guess not. Built for the same people, though, Page & Company." "They must be going in pretty heavy." "They are. There's a good deal of talk about it. Some of the boys up at the office say there's going to be fun with December wheat before they get through with it. It's been going up pretty steadily since the end of September--it was seventy-four and three-eighths Saturday in Minneapolis. It ain't got up quite so high down here yet, but the boys say there's going to be a lot of money in it for somebody." "Be a kind of a good thing to get in on, eh?" said Peterson, cautiously. "Maybe, for those that like to put money in wheat. I've got no money for that sort of thing myself." "Yes, of course," was Peterson's quick reply. "A fellow doesn't want to run them kind o' chances. I don't believe in it myself."