"I know precisely what you are going to say," Thayor began as the deputation shuffled into his den. "In the first place I hear there has been general dissatisfaction over the food at the lower shanty."
"You ain't fur from the p'int," blurted out Dollard; "it hain't been fit to feed to a dog."
"One moment, Mr. Dollard—you will wait until I get through speaking," Thayor said as he lifted a pile of bills. "These," he went on, "are the complete list of supplies since Bergstein took charge of your commissary department. A glance at the items and their cost will, I feel sure, force you men to acknowledge that they are the best money can buy." He passed half the file to Dollard, the remainder he handed to a big fellow next him for distribution. The totals alone were startling.
"We hain't had a dollar's worth of them things, and you know it,"
Dollard exclaimed surlily, looking up suddenly, as he read.
"Of course you haven't," Thayor smiled in return, "and yet you censure me for terminating my business relations with Bergstein—a man you men unanimously chose."
There was an awkward pause and a sheepish look on the faces of the men as they craned their corded, bronzed necks over the shoulders of those who held the accounts.
"Wall, I swan!" drawled one.
"Reg'lar damned skin!" muttered another.
"I need not explain to you further," Thayor resumed, "that the statements are pure forgeries. You will readily see that it was Bergstein's method to open a small account at these reputable houses and add the rest."
"I tink he been one beeg rascal—hein!" grinned Le Boeuf.