"But he may not want any strings on him. The other night at dinner at my house he was boasting of his independence. He didn't know how hot it made me."
"Yes, he did. That's why he did it. He said the same thing here yesterday. But I wasn't deceived. It was all a part of his game. I think in a game of bluff he can make old gamesters like you and me sit up and do some guessing." Janney knocked the ash from his cigar and laughed.
"Cornelius, our fine scheme hasn't worked out—not so far. When Wray first came in the office, you sized him up as a social climber. But, if you think we are going to bewilder him by our clubs, the opera, and social connections, you're reckoning without your host."
General Bent smiled tolerantly.
"He assimilates surprisingly well," he said with a reflective nod. "For all his Western manner, he never gives the impression of being ill-at-ease. I'll say that for him. Why, do you know, I strolled in on Caroline the other afternoon on my way uptown and found him teaching her how to play pinochle."
"Mrs. Rumsen?"
"Yes. She'll be making him the rage before the winter is out. But he takes it all as a matter of course. Indeed, I think he fancies himself our equal in any matter." He paused and then rose. "But he must prove that. The Amalgamated must own that smelter."
"Oh, yes," said Janney, following him with his eyes. "It will, of course. We can't have him underbidding us. It's lucky he hasn't tried it yet. But that's the danger from a man with both ability and ambition. And we can't run the risk of letting him get too far."
There was a silence of some moments, which Cornelius Bent improved by running over the correspondence. When he had finished he tossed the letters abruptly on the table, and walked to the window. "Poor Cort," he muttered, "he lost us the whole thing. I wonder what's the matter with that boy. He always seems to miss it somehow. I can never make a business man of him—like you or myself—or like Jeff Wray."
"He's cost us a pretty penny," growled Janney.