Carrington had shaved and washed, and was sitting at a front window, coatless, his hair uncombed, when Parsons knocked on the door.
“You’re back, eh?” said Parsons as he took a chair near the window. “Danforth was telling me you went to see the governor. Did you fix it?”
Carrington grinned. “Taylor was to take the oath today. He won’t take it—at least, not the sort of oath he expected.”
“It’s lucky you knew the governor.”
“H-m.” The grim grunt indicated that, governor or no governor, Carrington would not be denied.
Parsons smirked. But Carrington detected an unusual quality in the smirk—something more than satisfaction over the success of the visit to the governor. There was malicious amusement in the smirk, and anticipation. Parsons’ expressed satisfaction was not over what had happened, but over what was going to happen.
Carrington knew Parsons, and therefore Carrington gave no sign of what he had seen in Parsons’ face. He talked of Dawes and of their own prospects. But once, when Carrington mentioned Marion Harlan, quite casually, he noted that Parsons’ eyes widened.
But Parsons said nothing on the subject which had brought him until he had talked for half an hour. Then, noting that his manner had aroused Carrington’s interest, he said softly:
“This man, Taylor, seems destined to get in your way, doesn’t he?”
“What do you mean?” demanded Carrington shortly.