Blount nodded gravely. "I'm glad the letters and telegrams have had their effect at last," he rejoined.
"Had their effect? Yes, they've had the effect of turning my hair gray, if that's what you mean."
"I think you know what I mean, Dick."
"I'll be hanged if I do. What are you driving at?"
"At the fact that you have finally concluded to cancel the crooked deals with—wait, and I'll give you the names of the co-respondents"—and he drew a packet of neatly docketed letters from his pocket.
"Hold on a minute," protested the traffic manager; "you're getting in rather too deep for me. Will you let me see those letters?"
Blount put the letters back into his pocket and mechanically buttoned his light top-coat over them for additional safety.
"Do you mean to say that you haven't passed the word to Hathaway and McDarragh and a dozen others I could name?" he asked.
"Of course I haven't. You call yourself a lawyer, and yet you ask us to set aside promises that are, or ought to be, as binding as so many written contracts with penalties attached. You're crazy, Evan; it can't be done, and that's all there is to it."
Blount was frowning thoughtfully. "'Can't' goes out of the window when 'must' comes in at the door, Dick. You remember what I told you—that I'd get evidence, lawyer-fashion. I've got it; evidence of the sort that would turn the people of this State into a howling mob to tear up your tracks if I should publish it."