and general attitude.

And what he beheld riveted his attention. Whatever control the blind
man had over himself--and Tresler had reason to know what wonderful
control he had--his expression was quite unguarded now. There was a
devilish cruelty in every line in his hard, unyielding features.
His sanguinary eyes were burning with a curiously real live
light--probably the reflection of the lamp on the table--and his
habitually knit brows were scowling to an extent that the eyes beneath
them looked like sparks of living fire. And though he was lounging
comfortably back in his chair, without energy, without alertness, and
one arm was resting on the table at his side, and his outstretched
fingers were indolently drumming out a tattoo on the bare wood, his
breath was coming short and fast, in a manner that belied his
attitude.

Had Tresler only seen behind the door he would have been startled,
even alarmed. The inflamed Jake was oblivious to everything but his
own purpose. His mind was set on the object of his talk, to the
exclusion of all else. Just then he had not the slightest fear of the
blind man. There was nothing of the submission about him now that he
had displayed once before in Tresler's presence. It was the spirit he
had imbibed that had fortified him for the time. It is probable that
Jake, at that moment, had no fear of either man or devil.

And, though Tresler could not distinguish a word, his talk was
braggart, domineering, and there was a strong flavor of drink in its
composition. But even so, there was a relentless purpose in it, too.

"Ther' ain't no option fer you, Marbolt," Jake was saying. "You've
never given me an option, and I'm not goin' to be such a blazing fool
as to give you one. God A'mighty, Marbolt, ther' never was a man
treated as I've been by you. We've been together fer donkey's years, I
guess. 'Way back in them old days, when we was mates, before you was
blind, before you was cranked against 'most everybody, when we
scrapped agin them black-backs in the Indies side by side, when we
quarreled an' made friends again, I liked you, Marbolt, an' I worked
honest by you. There wa'n't nothin' mean to you, then, 'cep' in
handin' out dollars. I hadn't no kick comin' those days. I worked fer
so much, an' I see I got it. I didn't ask no more, an' I guess I
didn't want. That's all right. Then you got blind an' you changed
round. That's where the rub come. I was no better than the rest to
you. You fer