“Why, sure!” said the attorney, in a tone which sufficiently emphasized his complete understanding. Then he climbed slowly into the driving-seat of the runabout. “I don’t see why some of the rest of us haven’t caught on long ago,” he went on. “I suppose any of us might have had the simple facts if we had taken the trouble to dig for them.” Then, abruptly: “You’re looking for more trouble, Sprague?”
“Maxwell is; and so is Ford, apparently,” was the evasive reply.
“Never mind Maxwell or Ford; you’re the man,” snapped the lawyer.
“No, I’m not,” was the decisive denial. “It’s true, I have been willing to help out and take a hand in standing off a few of the attempted smashings; but that was only because Dick Maxwell is my friend, and it suited my humor to ride my little reasoning hobby in his behalf. I’m not a sleuth, Stillings; I’m a Government chemist, and I am out here for the ostensible purpose of making a technical report on the soils of this charming valley of yours. You forget that every now and then.”
“Pardon me, old man; I did forget it,” was the hearty apology. “Just the same, you mustn’t throw us down while the fight is still on. Maxwell put it about right the other day when he said that the Nevada Short Line would have been dead and buried two months ago if it hadn’t been for you.”
“Nevertheless, I can’t help out this time, Stillings. That is why I am staying here this evening—to meet Maxwell and tell him that he’ll have to fight for his own hand if the New Yorkers come after him again.”
“Good goodness, Sprague! what’s happened?”
“A thing which nobody could have foreseen, and for which nobody is to blame. At the same time, it lets me out. I’ve got to quit you.”
The attorney adjusted the spark and throttle and cut the wheels of the little car preparatory to the start.
“I can’t very well argue with you—not having any grounds,” he said. “But I hope you won’t decide finally until after you’ve had another talk with Maxwell. Think it over between now and dinner-time, and weigh the consequences to Dick, Sprague. If there’s another earthquake on the way, and you throw him down, he’s a ruined man. I know what you will say: that he is well fixed and doesn’t have to be a railroad superintendent. That’s all right, but his job means more to him than it might to a poor man; it’s his ambition. If there is anything I can do——”