He wanted to catch the night mail for the North; and
besides his body, jaded by two days' confinement, cried aloud for a
little exercise. His fervent desire was to rush out all the articles
that were in him, and get money for them back with all possible speed.
But he knew that the market for this work was limited. He must find
other work immediately; he did not care greatly what kind it was,
provided only that it was profitable. Thoughts of ways and means, mostly
hard thoughts, occupied his mind all the way downtown. And always it
grew plainer to him how much he was going to miss, now of all times, his
eighteen hundred a year from the _Post_.
In the narrowest corridor of the post-office--like West in the Byrds'
vestibule--he came suddenly face to face with Sharlee Weyland.
The meeting was unwelcome to them both, and both their faces showed it.
Sharlee had told herself, a thousand times in a week, that she never
wanted to see Mr. Queed again. Queed had known, without telling himself
at all, that he did not want to see Miss Weyland, not, at least, till he
had more time to think.
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