"I've got to be off now," continued Atwater, rising.
"So have I," said Armstrong.
They went to the street door of the building, Atwater holding Armstrong by the arm. There, Armstrong put out his hand. "Good-by, Mr. Atwater," he said; "I'll meet you at Philippi."
"Think it over, young man, think it over," said Atwater, a friendly, sad expression in his handsome, kind eyes. "I don't want to see you come a nasty cropper—one that'll make you crawl about with a broken back the rest of your life. Put off your ambitions—or, better still, come in with us. We'll do more for you than you can do for yourself."
"Thank you," replied Armstrong ironically.
"Consult with your people. The governor has almost weakened, and I'm sure Morris will fall in line with whatever you do."
"You've got my answer," said Armstrong, unruffled in his easy good nature. "And I'll tell you, Mr. Atwater, that if you do take the cover off hell, I'll see that it isn't put on again until you've had a look-in, at least."
"You know the situation too well to imagine you can win," urged Atwater. "You must be thinking I'm bluffing."
"Frankly, I don't know," replied Armstrong. "As you will lose so much and I so little, I rather believe you are."
"Put that idea out of your mind," said Atwater; and now his face, especially his eyes, gave Armstrong a look full into the true man, the reckless and relentless tyrant, with whom tyranny was an instinct stronger than reason.