“You’ve got a curious way of trying to raise money,” he observed. “I suppose,” dryly, “that’s what you’re here for?”
“You suppose right,” Bruce answered hotly as he stood up, “but I’m no damn pauper. And get it out of your head,” he went on as the accumulated wrath of weeks swept over him, “that you’re talking to the office boy. I’ve found somebody at last that’s big enough to stand up to and tell ’em to go to hell! Sabe? You needn’t touch my proposition, you needn’t even listen to it, but, hear me, you talk civil!”
As Harrah arose Bruce took a step closer and looked at him squarely.
A lurking imp sprang to life in Harrah’s vivid eyes, a dare-devil look which found its counterpart in Bruce’s own.
“I believe you think you’re a better man than I am.”
“I can lick you any jump in the road,” Bruce answered promptly.
Harrah looked at him speculatively, without resentment, then his lips parted in a grin which showed two sharp, white, prominent front teeth.
“On the square,” eagerly, “do you think you can down me?”
“I know it,” curtly—“any old time or place. Now, if it suits you.”