«Anything wrong, Thompson?» he asked.

«There was,» was the answer, positive and complete.

Forrest closed the door and went on along a passage that was like a tunnel. Narrow, iron-barred openings, like the slits for archers in medieval castles, dimly lighted the way. Another door gave access to a long, low room, beam-ceilinged, with a fireplace in which an ox could have been roasted. A huge stump, resting on a bed of coals, blazed brightly. Two billiard tables, several card tables, lounging corners, and a miniature bar constituted the major furnishing. Two young men chalked their cues and returned Forrest's greeting.

«Good morning, Mr. Naismith,» he bantered. «—More material for the Breeders' Gazette?»

Naismith, a youngish man of thirty, with glasses, smiled sheepishly and cocked his head at his companion.

«Wainwright challenged me,» he explained.

«Which means that Lute and Ernestine must still be beauty-sleeping,»

Forrest laughed.

Young Wainwright bristled to acceptance of the challenge, but before he could utter the retort on his lips his host was moving on and addressing Naismith over his shoulder.

«Do you want to come along at eleven:thirty? Thayer and I are running out in the machine to look over the Shropshires. He wants about ten carloads of rams. You ought to find good stuff in this matter of Idaho shipments. Bring your camera along.—Seen Thayer this morning?»

«Just came in to breakfast as we were leaving,» Bert Wainwright volunteered.

«Tell him to be ready at eleven-thirty if you see him. You're not invited, Bert… out of kindness. The girls are sure to be up then.»

«Take Rita along with you anyway,» Bert pleaded.