He started to speak, but choked off the words before he had uttered them. I could almost read his mind. Carton had said nothing directly about the Black Book, and Murtha had caught himself just in time not to betray anything about it.
"So," he shouted at last, "you are going to try some of those fine little scientific tricks on us, are you?"
He was pacing up and down the room, storming and threatening by turns.
"I want to tell you, Carton," pursued Murtha, "that you're up against a crowd who were playing this game before you were born. You reformers think you are pretty smooth. But we know a thing or two about you and what you are doing. Besides," he leaned over the desk again, "Carton, there ain't many men that can afford to throw stones. I admit my life hasn't been perfect—but, then I ain't posing as any saint. I don't mind telling you that the organization, as you call it, is looking into some of the things that you reformers have done. It may be that some of your people—some of the ladies," he insinuated, "don't look on life in the broad-minded way that some of the rest do. Mind you—I ain't making any threats, but when it comes to gossip and scandal and mud-slinging—look out for the little old organization—that's all!"
Carton had set his tenacious jaw. "You can go as far as you like,
Murtha," was all he said, with a grim smile.
Murtha looked at him a moment, then his manner changed.
"Carton," he said in a milder tone, at length, "what's the use of all this bluffing? You and I understand each other. These men understand—life. It's a game—that's what it is—a game. Sometimes one move is right, sometimes another. You know what you want to accomplish here in this city. I show you a way to do it. Don't answer me," persisted Murtha, raising a hand, "just—think it over."
Carton had taken a step forward, the tense look on his face unchanged.
"No," he exclaimed, and we could almost hear his jaw snap as if it had
been a trap. "No—I'll not think it over. I'll not yield an inch. Dopey
Jack goes to trial before election."
As Carton bit off the words, Murtha became almost beside himself with rage and chagrin. He was white and red by turns. For a moment I feared that he might do Carton personal violence.
"Carton," he ground out, as he reached the door, "you will regret this."