"The President handed me that last night," said Craig, when he saw that her glance was on the last line. "And he told me he had decided to ask Stillwater to stay on."
Margaret gave the clipping to Grant. "Give it to him," she said and started toward the house.
Craig sprang before her. "Margaret," he cried, "can you blame me?"
"No," said she, and there was no pose in her manner now; it was sincerely human. "I pity you." She waved him out of her path and, with head bent, he obeyed her.
The two men gazed after her. Arkwright was first to speak: "Well, you've got what you wanted."
Craig slowly lifted his circled, bloodshot eyes to Arkwright. "Yes," said he hoarsely, "I've got what I wanted."
"Not exactly in the way a gentleman would like to get it," pursued Grant. "But YOU don't mind a trifle of that sort."
"No," said Craig, "I don't mind a trifle of that sort. 'Bounder Josh'—that's what they call me, isn't it?"
"When they're frank they do."
Craig drew a long breath, shook himself like a man gathering himself together after a stunning blow. He reflected a moment. "Come along, Grant. I'm going back in your machine."