“Now, you listen at me!” said Rankin. “You’re a liar an’ you’re a coward; you’re a low-down, contemptible houn’, you’re a damned sight worser’n Pusey settin’ in there; I just tell you this to let you know what I think o’ you. An’ now I want to serve notice on you, here’n now, publicly, that Jim Rankin’s goin’ to go right on livin’ in this man’s town, that he’s goin’ to figur’ some in politics, that he’s ag’in you, an’ that you’d best get all you can out o’ this term in Congress, fer I give you fair warnin’ that you’re servin’ your last term. I’m ag’in you, an’ I’m agoin’ to camp down on your trail from this on, an’ if you have the gall to show your face fer renomination ag’in, I’ll make it my business to git you—an’ I’ll git you!”
Rankin was breathing hard.
“Now, you can go, damn you,” he said, and he released his hold on Garwood.
The congressman stood, his eyes glaring impotent rage out of a blank white face. They stood thus for a full minute, and then Garwood, readjusting his overcoat with a shrug of his shoulders, turned to walk away. The throng that had pressed closely about them silently parted to make a way for him, and he passed out of their midst. Rankin stood and gazed after him. He stood and gazed, and the people standing by in painful silence watched with him the figure of Garwood, rapidly making for the door, held as erectly and as dignifiedly as he could, for the man had need of all his dignity then. Rankin watched him out of sight. Then he turned. The crowd had found tongue, and a hum of voices arose. Several tried to speak to him.
“Served him just right,” some one began, sympathetically.
“You go to hell,” said Rankin, brushing the startled man aside. And then he went away, forgetting to post the Christmas letter his wife had intrusted to him.
Out in the drizzling holiday streets, Garwood hurried along, sick with the humiliation of the scene, but as he thought of it, his old habit of self-pity reasserted itself, and with this ruse he tried to lure back some of his old self-respect. So well did he succeed that when he reached home he was red with wrath and muttering. Emily, from her window, saw him coming, and hastened to meet him at the door.
“Why, Jerome, what is the matter?” she cried, when she saw his face.
He flung off his overcoat and hurled his hat at the rack.
“Well, I’ve seen your friend, Jim Rankin.”