"No, I need it to get Linda," returned the other bluntly.
Bertram smiled wanly, and balanced back and forth on his heels and toes.
His visitor regarded him curiously. "I'll bet you've done some tall working on this," he said slowly.
"No fish ever worked harder," admitted Bertram.
"But when you knew it was your own fault—" suggested Whitcomb.
King's quizzical eyes regarded the speaker. "That conviction does always make a fellow rather hump himself, Freddy."
The caller rose. He didn't like the look in his host's face. All this heart-breaking business should be treated seriously. King looked worn, but he didn't look humble; and as Mr. Barry's factotum he had been frightfully neglectful of Linda this morning. No, Whitcomb didn't feel like shaking hands with him, even after King had lighted for him a beacon of hope. The caller suddenly assumed an abrupt, businesslike manner.
"This won't do for me," he said. "So long, King," and he started precipitately for the door. One backward glance at his host, who was still standing with feet wide apart and thumbs hooked in his vest, gave him pause. King's face showed so plainly the battle he had fought. Freddy returned and took Bertram's hand and wrung it.
"Do you know, I was sure you wanted Linda," he said, with sudden frankness.
King's slender fingers gave his a viselike grip, and his lips smiled calmly. "It isn't so much a question of what we want as what she wants, is it?" he said.