Caleb thought in silence for a few moments.
“If I do this?” he asked at last.
“Then, on the afternoon of Election Day, my brother shall turn over to you, or to your representative, the entire Denzlow correspondence.”
“I have your word for that? Certified copies and all?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t lie. That’s about the one foolish trait I’ve ever found in you. If I’ve got your word, you’ll stand by it. Can’t say quite the same of me, eh?”
“I don’t think that needs an answer.”
“Can’t turn over the letters to me now, on my pledge to——?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Anice, almost apologetically. “I must——”
“And you’re dead right. A promise is such a sacred thing that it’s always wise to keep your finger on the trigger till the real money’s handed over. Just to keep the sacredness from spoiling. As I understand it, I’m to loosen up on Standish; and then if I lick him fair, you and I are quits? I’ll do it. Such a fight ought to prove pretty amusing. It’ll be an experience anyhow, as Sol Townsley said when Father Healy told him he’d some day burn in hell. I’ll accept those silly terms of yours for the same reason so many men stay honest. They don’t enjoy it, but it’s more fun than going to jail. I’ll send out the orders first thing in the morning. And on the afternoon of Election Day I’ll get that Denzlow stuff?”