to draw a girl. He's a six-footer and over; he spangled a lot, and he
smiled pretty--comme le printemps, and was sharp enough to keep clear of
women that could hurt him. That was his strongest point after all, for
a little, sly sprat of a woman that's made eyes at you and led you on,
till you sent her a note in a hurry some time with some loose hot words
in it, and she got what she'd wanted, will make you pay a hundred times
for the goods you get. Ingolby was sharp enough to walk shy, until you
came his way, and then he lost his underpinning. But last night got him
in the vitals--hit him between the eyes; and his stock's not worth ten
cents in the dollar to-day. But though the pumas are out, and he's done,
and'll never see his way out of the hole he's in"--he laughed at his
grisly joke"--it's natural to let him down easy. You've looked his way;
he did you a good turn at the Carillon Rapids, and you'd do one for him
if you could. I'm the only one can stop the worst from happening. You
want to pay your debt to him. Good. I can help you do it. I can stop
the strikes on the railways and in the mills. I can stop the row at
the Orange funeral. I can stop the run on his bank and the drop in his
stock. I can fight the gang that's against him--I know how. I'm the man
that can bring things to pass."
He paused with a sly, mean smile of self-approval and conceit, and his
tongue licked the corners of his mouth in a way that drunkards have in
the early morning when the effect of last night's drinking has worn off.
He spread out his hands with the air of a man who had unpacked his
soul, but the chief characteristic of his manner was egregious belief in
himself.
At first, in her desire to find a way to meet the needs of Ingolby,
Fleda had listened to him with fortitude and even without revolt. But
as he began to speak of women, and to refer to herself with a look of
gloating which men of his breed cannot hide, her angry pulses beat hard.
She did not quite know where he was leading, but she was sure he meant
to say something which would vex her beyond bearing. At one moment she
meant to cut short his narrative, but he prevented her, and when at last
he ended, she was almost choking with agitation. It had been borne in
upon her as his monologue proceeded, that she would rather die than
accept anything from this man--anything of any kind. To fight him was
the only thing. Nothing else could prevail in the end. His was the
service of the
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