“You'll know, sir—” began Lyman.
“Well, I'll tell you why,” vociferated Osterman. “I'll tell you why. It's because we have been sold out. It's because the P. and S. W. have had their spoon in this boiling. It's because our commissioners have betrayed us. It's because we're a set of damn fool farmers and have been cinched again.”
Lyman paled under his dark skin at the direct attack. He evidently had not expected this so soon. For the fraction of one instant he lost his poise. He strove to speak, but caught his breath, stammering.
“What have you to say, then?” cried Harran, who, until now, had not spoken.
“I have this to say,” answered Lyman, making head as best he might, “that this is no proper spirit in which to discuss business. The Commission has fulfilled its obligations. It has adjusted rates to the best of its ability. We have been at work for two months on the preparation of this schedule——”
“That's a lie,” shouted Annixter, his face scarlet; “that's a lie. That schedule was drawn in the offices of the Pacific and Southwestern and you know it. It's a scheme of rates made for the Railroad and by the Railroad and you were bought over to put your name to it.”
There was a concerted outburst at the words. All the men in the room were on their feet, gesticulating and vociferating.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” cried Magnus, “are we schoolboys, are we ruffians of the street?”
“We're a set of fool farmers and we've been betrayed,” cried Osterman.
“Well, what have you to say? What have you to say?” persisted Harran, leaning across the table toward his brother. “For God's sake, Lyman, you've got SOME explanation.”