I am doing all the evil I can, he vindictively reflected, and it was with the comfort of his animosity about him that, ultimately, he was shown into an office—bright and, on this May forenoon, very airy—that gave on Broad Street.
Dunwoodie, twisting in a chair, glared at him.
"Ecce iterum Crispinus!" Jones tritely began. "What price retainers to-day?"
"I hoped to God I had seen the last of you," Dunwoodie, with elaborate, old-fashioned courtesy, replied.
Jones, disdaining to be asked, drew a chair.
Viciously Dunwoodie eyed him. "What the devil do you want?"
Jones smiled at him. "That decision."
"What decision, sir?"
"The one I cited when I brought you the paper that secured Lennox' discharge."
"Damme, sir, nothing of the kind. I would have had him discharged any way."