"You'll regret it!" he mumbled.
"I hope not," said Ralph, rising also.
"Young man," observed Farrington, stabbing at his guest with a quivering finger, "I warn you that you are taking an obstinate and fatal course."
"Warn?" echoed Ralph--"that is pretty strong language, isn't it, Mr. Farrington?"
"And I mean it to be so!" cried Farrington, casting aside all disguise. "I said I had influence. I have. You can't work for the Great Northern in Stanley Junction, if I say not."
Ralph stared at the speaker incredulously. He could not comprehend how Farrington could show the bad policy to put himself on record with such a remark, be his intentions what they might.
"In fact, sir," said Ralph, "you mean to intimate that you will get me discharged?"
"I mean just that," unblushingly admitted Farrington. "I will allow no pauper brood to stand in the way of my--of my----"
Ralph felt the blood surge hotly to his temples. With a strong effort he controlled himself.
"Mr. Farrington," he said quietly, though his voice trembled a trifle, "you have said quite enough. I want to tell you that you are a wicked, hypocritical old man. You have no interest in my welfare--you are after our little property, because you have learned that the railroad may soon pay a big price for it. You want us out of Stanley Junction, because you are afraid we may find out something about your dealings with my dead father. To carry your point, you threaten me--me, a poor boy, just starting in to win his way by hard work--you threaten to plot against and ruin me. Very well, Mr. Farrington, go ahead. I have too much reliance in the teachings of a good mother to believe that you will succeed."