“Now, listen!” she screamed, stopping her mother in her rush. “That man there is Wiley Holman! Yes–Holman! Old Honest John’s son! What’s this you’re going to sign?”
20She backed away, her eyes fixed on the agreement, while the Widow stood astounded.
“Wiley Holman!” she shrieked, “why, you limb of Satan, you said your name was Wiley!”
“It is,” returned Wiley with one eye on the door, “the rest of my name is Holman.”
“But you signed it on this paper–you wrote it right there! Oh, I’ll have the law on you for this!”
She clutched at the paper and as Virginia gave it to her mother she turned an accusing glance upon Wiley.
“Yes, that’s just like you, Mr. M. R. Wiley,” she observed with scathing sarcasm. “You were just that way when you were a kid here in Keno– always trying to get the advantage of somebody. But if I’d thought you had the nerve─” She glanced at the paper and gasped and Wiley showed his teeth in a grin.
“Well, she crowded me to it,” he answered with a swagger. “I’m strictly business–I’ll sign up anybody. You can just keep that paper,” he nodded to the Widow, “and send it to me by mail.”
He winked at Virginia and slipped swiftly out the door as the Widow made a rush for her gun. She came out after him, brandishing a double-barreled shotgun, just as he cranked up his machine to start.
“I’ll show you!” she yelled, jerking her gun to her shoulder. “I’ll learn you to get funny with me!”