It did not explain whether Mr. Jenkins raised cotton, bought it, sold it, ginned it, or merely thought about it. The office was so located that in a morally crusading town, where caution was necessary, it would have suggested nocturnal poker. But as it was not necessary for a poker game in Calexico to be so modestly retiring, Reedy's choice of an office must be attributed solely to his love of quiet and unostentation. As Bob turned up the side street, two people were coming down the iron stairway--one a dry, thin man who looked as though he might be the relict of some dead language, wearing a stiff hat and a black alpaca coat; the other, a girl of more than medium height, who took the narrow steps with a sort of spring without even touching the iron rail with her hand, and her eyes were looking out across the town. "I beg your pardon," Bob met them at the foot of the stairs, "but can you tell me if Mr. Jenkins is in?" It was the girl who turned to answer, and at one look Bob saw she was more than interesting--soft light hair, inquisitive eyes, an intuitive mouth--nothing dry or attenuated about her. "Yes," she replied, with a slight twist of the mouth, "Mr. Jenkins is in. Have you a lease to sell?" "No." "Then go on up," she said, and turned across the street following the spindle-legged man who was unhitching two horses. "Blooming sunflowers!" exclaimed Bob, his heart taking a quick twist as she walked away, "as sure as I'm a foot high, that's the girl who stood in the doorway that night." As Bob entered the office Jenkins sat tipped back in a swivel chair, his left arm resting on his desk, the right free as though it had been gesturing. Reedy had rather large eyes, a plump, smooth face that was two shades redder than pink and one shade pinker than red. He always looked as though he had just shaved, and a long wisp of very black hair dangled diagonally across the corner of his forehead, such as one often sees on the storm-tossed head of an impassioned orator who is talking for the audience and working for himself. "Sit down." He waved Bob to a chair. "I've been wanting to have a talk with you--got a proposition for you." CHAPTER III Reedy Jenkins lighted a very good cigar and sat studying Rogeen with a leisurely air. Bob was a good salesman and began at once: "Understand you have been buying up leases, and I came up to sell you some farm machinery." Reedy took the cigar from his wide mouth and laughed at the joke. "I don't raise cotton, I leave that to Chinamen--I raise prices. I'm not a farmer but a financier." Then returning the cigar to the corner of his mouth he remarked with a pink judicialness: "I should say you have a way with the ladies." Bob blushed. "I never discovered it, if I have." "I have, myself." Reedy bit the end of his cigar and nodded with a doggish appreciation of his own fascination. "But I'm too busy just now to use it."