“I hear, on good authority, that you blackballed me,” insisted Osmun, his glare abating not at all.
“And I tell you, on better authority, that I didn’t,” returned Thaxton with a lazy calm that irked the angry man all the more.
“Then who did?” mouthed Osmun. “I’ve a right to know. I mean to get to the bottom of this. If a club, like the Stockbridge Hunt, blackballs a man of my standing, I’ll know why. I—”
“I believe the proceedings of Membership Committee meetings are supposed to be confidential,” Thaxton suggested. “Why not take your medicine?”
“I still believe it was you who blackballed me!” flamed Osmun. “I had it from—”
“You have just had it from me that I didn’t,” interposed Thaxton, a thread of ice running through his pleasant voice. “Please let it go at that.”
“You’re the only man around here who would have done such a thing,” urged Creede, his face reddening and his voice rising. “And I am going to find out why. We’ll settle this, here and now. I—”
Thaxton rose lazily from his perch on the rail.
“If you’ve got to have it, then take it,” he said, facing Osmun. “I wasn’t at the meeting. But Willis Chase was. And I’ll tell you what he told me about it, if it will ease your mind. He said, when your name was voted on, the ballot-box looked as if it were full of Concord grapes. There wasn’t a single white ball dropped into the box. I’m sorry to—”
“That’s a lie!” flamed Osmun.