“Norton owns a newspaper here—the only one in the county—the Eagle.”
“Why didn’t you buy him?”
Danforth grinned sarcastically: “I didn’t feel that reckless.”
“Honest, eh?”
Carrington rested his chin in the palm of his right hand and scowled into the street. He was convinced that Danforth had done everything he could to win the election, and he was bitterly chagrined over the result. But that result was not the dominating thought in his mind. He kept seeing Taylor as the latter had stood on the station platform, stunned with surprise over the knowledge that he had been so signally honored by the people of Dawes.
And Carrington had seen Marion Harlan’s glances at the man; he had been aware of the admiring smile she had given Taylor; and bitter passion gripped Carrington at the recollection of the smile.
More—he had seen Taylor’s face when the girl had smiled. The smile had thrilled Taylor—it had held promise for him, and Carrington knew it.
Carrington continued to stare out into the street. Danforth watched him furtively, in silence.
At last, not opening his lips, Carrington spoke:
“Tell me about this man, Taylor.”