“You’ve turned the trick, Mr. Sprague, for this one time,” he said briefly, “but only because one man—a sick man—cannot stand the pressure—which is doubtless what you figured on. Judge Watson will rescind his order at once, and the road will be turned over to its former management—on one condition; that you surrender the original papers which you say are locked up in Judge Walsh’s safe.”
“No,” said Sprague instantly. “The condition does not stand. Stillings, get Judge Walsh on the ’phone, will you?”
That was enough. Hunniwell quickly withdrew the condition; or, rather, he modified it, lawyer-wise.
“Never mind,” he cut in hastily. “We’ll waive that, with this proviso—that you’ll put the papers into Mr. Kinzie’s hands, to be destroyed in the presence of such witnesses as we each may choose, after we shall have proved that we have acted in good faith. Do you agree to that?”
Sprague nodded, and Starbuck stepped aside and opened the door leading out through the banker’s office. At the upper end of the table, Maxwell and Stillings and the gray-faced bank president were all trying to shake hands with Sprague at one and the same moment; and when Hunniwell had led the tremulous judge away, Dimmock walked the length of the table and took his turn. Stillings, being Western-bred, anticipated violence; but instead of falling upon the big-bodied ex-athlete, Dimmock, too, held out his hand.
“Mr. Sprague, you’ve outgeneraled us,” he said, with more frankness than his hard-lined face and austere manner promised, even as a possibility. “Diana tells me that you are wedded to your Government position, and if that is so, you are simply throwing yourself away. Come to New York, and we’ll put you in the way of doing something worth while.” Then he added, with the charming smile he seemed to be able to summon at will: “You played a finer game than I thought you would; in fact, I thought I had trumped your ace to-day at the luncheon-table.”
“You did—mighty nearly,” laughed the big one. And then to Stillings: “Robert, will you go over to Judge Walsh’s chambers and tell the gentlemen who are waiting there—well, tell them what is necessary. You’ll know how.”
But Dimmock was not to be so easily turned aside.
“I say you played it fine,” he repeated, still amiable. “You knew that, under the circumstances, the—er—sentimental circumstances, we may call them—you couldn’t afford to go before that larger committee with your evidence, Mr. Sprague.”
Sprague’s mellow laugh rang in the empty room.