“Oh, well now, see here, Crane.”
“In future, sir, you will address me as Mr. Crane. I trust that is clear to you, Mr. Ford.”
“Well, suit yourself. What’s the use of our bein’ so all-fired unfriendly? Neighbors, ain’t we? Livin’ under the same roof!”
“You are living under my roof, sir! Not I under yours! That you continue to live there is purely due to the presence of a woman who has had the misfortune to marry you, and a stepdaughter—thank Heaven, she is not your daughter—whom I hope, with all my heart, some day will be rid of you forever. You ask me for two weeks’ time. Very well, you shall have it. I trust you fully realize your situation. Remember, I shall hold you to your promise in regard to Miss Moulton. Mr. Ford, I have nothing more to say to you—good morning.”
Ford picked up his dusty derby slowly from the desk, and as slowly rose to his feet.
Enoch, with his hands plunged deep in his trousers pockets, stood grim and silent, gazing irritably at the floor; if he saw Ford’s outstretched hand reach toward him slowly across the desk between them, he did not move a muscle in recognition.
“Well, so long,” ventured Ford.
“Good morning,” repeated Enoch gruffly, without raising his head.
“Well, now, that’s too bad,” drawled Ford, slowly withdrawing his hand. “I was just thinkin’ if you and me was to go down for a little straight Bourbon you’d feel better.”
Enoch jerked up his head.