“He would have killed me in cold blood if I’d been alone with him,” exclaimed Mr. Gooch. “My God, when I think of poor old Oliver out there on that lonely back road, trying to reason with him, I—”
“See here, Uncle Horace,” interrupted Oliver, in a calm, matter-of-fact tone, “I’ll tell you what I will do. I will give you five thousand dollars in cash if you find my father for me. It has cost me twice that amount already—my own money, mind you—but I’ll give you—”
“Dead or alive?” demanded Mr. Gooch sternly, accusingly.
“Yes, dead or alive. Now, wait a second. I’ve got something more to say to you. My father always said you were the meanest creature that God ever let live, and I used to dispute it once in a while. I claimed that a hyena was worse. Now I know he was right and I was wrong. Go ahead with your investigation. Go as far as you like. You can’t bluff me. I am in this race to stay and I’m going after you tooth and nail. Now I guess we understand each other. I’m going after you because of the way you treated my father and I’m—”
“And I’m going after you for the way you treated him,” bawled Mr. Gooch, throwing in the clutch viciously. Then he muttered an execration.
“If you’ll give Marmaduke Smith a dime he’ll crank it for you,” said Oliver, turning on his heel. He glanced up at the clock on the bank down the street. “Oh, thunder!” he exclaimed in dismay. “You’ve made me miss the train!”
“If you crank that car, Marmaduke,” said Mr. Sikes menacingly, “I’ll boot you all over town.”
So Mr. Gooch got out and cranked the car, and drove away to a chorus of undesirable invitations.
“Where’s Oliver?” demanded Mr. Sikes, as the car turned the corner. “We got to stick purty close to him from now on, Silas.”
“What for, Joe?”