The Man, the Man, and the Gates of Shasta Industry

It was nearly half past nine before the big wooden doors swung open. The two bobbies at the end of the gate did no more than glance up and hoist their massive chest by inserting their thumbs more firmly in their belts. For more than man stood, he couldn't see the gates, nor could he hear the heavy doors swinging on their well-oiled hinges. But some mysterious instinct warned him that they were now open and that she would come in a minute or two. He threw away the stump of his cigar and turned back the collar of his coat. Even set his battered hat at a more jaunty angle and finally passed his hand meditatively over his shaggy beard