He drove himself at last into such a condition of hatred for all that was good and noble that he would have hailed with joy the positive proof that his wife had been untrue to him!
All day long he had been singularly abstemious. His brooding had caused him to forget or to neglect the appetite that mastered him. Toward evening he resumed his drinking, however, mainly for the purpose of restoring his courage, which had slumped terribly in this estimate of himself.
When the time came to go over the receipts with the ticket-sellers he pulled himself together and prepared to assert his authority. He tossed away the empty bottle and advanced upon the wagon, his face blanched by self-pity. He was confounded by the sight of Colonel Grand, sitting inside and going over the cash with Hanks, the seller.
"What do you want?" demanded Colonel Grand, when Braddock, after trying the locked door, showed his convulsed face at the little window. Hanks looked uncomfortable.
"Let me in there, Grand!" grated the man outside.
"I'll attend to this. We can't have you bothering with the finances—"
"I'll kick that door in," roared Braddock; "and I'll kill somebody!"
Colonel Grand picked up the treasurer's revolver. He smiled indulgently.
"I'm taking care of the money after this, Brad."
"I own this show, damn you! I-I-I'll fix you!" sputtered the other. He began to cry.