Armstrong's big hands clenched into fists and he set his teeth together sharply. Each man looked the other full in the eyes. Armstrong said, "Will you give me the letter?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," replied Fosdick steadily. "And don't explain. I can't talk business to-day."
"I've come to you, Mr. Fosdick," continued Armstrong, "not on my own account, but on yours. I ask you to give me the letter, because, if you do not, the consequences will be unfortunate—not for me, but for you."
"My dear Armstrong," said Fosdick, with wheedling familiarity of elder to younger, "I don't know what you're talking about, and I don't want to know. Look at me, and spare me. Come for a drive. I'll set you down anywhere you say. Don't be foolish, young man. Don't use language to me that suggests threats."
"That is your final answer? Is it quite useless to discuss the matter with you?"
"I'm too sick to wrangle with business to-day."
"Then you refuse to give me the letter?"
"If my doctor knew I had let anybody mention business to me, he'd desert me."
Without a further word Armstrong turned, left the room and the house. Fosdick did not follow immediately. Instead, he seated himself to puzzle at this development. "Hugo stirred him up about that, and he's simply trying to get ready for the committee," he decided. "If he knew, or even suspected, he'd act very differently. He's having his heart broken none too soon. I've never seen a worse case of swollen head. I pushed him up too fast. I'm really to blame; I'm always doing hasty, generous things, and getting myself into trouble, and those I meant to help. Poor fool. I'm sorry for him. I suppose once I get him down in his place, I'll be soft enough to relent and give him something. He's got talent. I can use him, once I have him broken to the bit."
In came Amy, the color high in her cheeks from her morning walk. She kissed him on both cheeks. "Well, well, what do you want?" said he.