“Ye want ’em pretty bad, do ye?” said Stamps, looking at him with a curiosity not untinged with dubiousness. He was sharp enough to realise that, upon the whole, his case was not a strong one.
“I don’t want them for the reason you think I want them for,” Latimer replied; his voice was cold and hard, and his manner unpromisingly free from emotion or eagerness. “I want them for a reason of my own. As for your pretence of recognising me as a man you have seen before, go out into the street corners and say what you choose. My friends know how and where my life has been spent, and you are shrewd enough to know how far your word will stand against mine. If you need the money now, you had better produce what you have to sell.”
“I could get ye mightily talked about,” said Stamps, restlessly.
“Try it,” answered Latimer, and turned as if to walk out of the room. He knew what he was dealing with, and saw the fevered cupidity and fear in the little, shifting eyes.
Stamps struggled up into a sitting posture on his mattress and broke forth into coughs again.
“Come back yere,” he cried between gasps; “ye needn’t ter go.”
Latimer paused where he stood and waited until the fit of coughing was over; and Stamps threw himself back exhausted. His shifty eyes burned uncannily, his physical and mental fever were too much for him. Linthicum had just left him before Latimer arrived, and upon the production of five hundred dollars rested the fate of the claim for the herds.
“Ef ye’ll bring the money—cash down—next Saturday,” he said, “I’ll give ye the papers. I’ll hev ’em yere by then. When ye’ve got ’em,” with the agreeable grin again, “ye kin go to yer friend’s far’well lecture easy in ye mind. Ye wouldn’t be likely to go to many of ’em ef he knowed what I could tell him. He’s powerful thick with Tom D’Willerby and Sheby. They think a heap of him. Tom must hev guessed what I’ve guessed, but he don’t want no talk on accounts o’ Sheby. Tom knows which side his bread’s buttered—he ain’t nigh as big a fool as he looks.”
Latimer stood still.
“Next Saturday?” was his sole response. “In the meantime, I should advise you to send for the doctor.”