“You’d better go,” she reported. “You merely succeed in making a fool of yourself.”
“Oh dear!” moaned Lady Featherstone. “The man is dangerous. Claude, call John and Henry.” 112
“Yep, call in your tame leopards. Gee—I’m starving for a fight!”
Featherstone, eyeing this six-feet-three of hard knotted muscle, attempted to bring diplomacy to the rescue.
“Conlan,” he pleaded, “I beg you to act reasonably. I understand you are going to the Klondyke. But you can scarcely expect Angela to accompany you there. There are certain limits to a wife’s marital responsibilities.”
Jim’s eyes narrowed.
“There ain’t no sentiments in business. I bought her for fifty thousand. I’m not writing off anything for depreciation, cos I allow there ain’t no depreciation, in a material sense. I’m jest hanging on to my property till I can get a price that leaves a margin of profit—say ten per cent. Make the bidding and I’ll quit.”
Nothing was more calculated to arouse Featherstone’s unbridled wrath.
“You vulgar cowpuncher!” he retorted. “You dare insult me in that way! You dare treat my daughter as bag and baggage—to be sold at auction like an Asiatic slave——!”
“I made the offer,” said Jim casually, “because 113 I thought, from experience, that was your line of business.”