Peter Bolton gave me a malignant glance.
"Judgment! judgment!" he exclaimed in his most sarcastic drawl. "The Young Man knows that Kendrick and I haven't been on good terms, and he thinks he can Curry Favor by ruining me. But if I can have a word with him, I can convince him it's to Kendrick's interest to keep me afloat this time." And seizing my arm, he attempted to draw me to the other end of the room.
"I don't care to hear anything you can't say before these gentlemen," I replied.
"Come just a minute," he persisted, with a wheedling tone in his voice, and drew me to a farther corner. Then he said in a low, eager tone: "It will be fifty thousand dollars in your pocket if you say yes."
"No!" was my curt reply.
"It will be cash," he urged. "You can hold the money out from the advance from the committee. You'll be perfectly safe."
"No!" I repeated, with the emphasis of disgust, and walked swiftly back to the desk. For an instant I had the resolve to explain to my fellow-members the offense that Peter Bolton had proposed. But an uneasy conscience reminded me that I had brought it upon myself, and instead of revealing the shameless offer, I said sharply:
"I ought to have saved time by telling you at the first that nothing could serve this man's profit so well as a panic. He above all other men is responsible for the present troubles, and any money advanced to him will be used against the interests we are here to protect."
Peter Bolton's hand trembled, and a look of desperation came into his eyes. Otherwise he gave no sign of lessening self-possession.
"It's a lie, it's a lie!" he cried. "I shall be ruined." Nelson turned to me.