To his delight, he felt no bad effects; he was somewhat limp and lazy, but that, no doubt, was a natural reaction from the strain. He could now, however, afford to take a few days’ rest, and he telegraphed Aynsley that he would spend the week-end at Osborne’s house, which was always open to both. Enjoying the first-fruits of his victory, in the shape of some tempting offers, shortly before he left his office, he traveled down the Sound in high content, and, to complete his satisfaction, he learned on arriving that Aynsley had secured some large and profitable orders for lumber.
Dinner was served early on the Saturday evening, and Clay, finding that he had an excellent appetite, ate and drank more than usual. He was quite well, he told himself, but had had an anxious time and needed bracing. Miss Dexter watched him with disapproval when, after dinner was finished, he stood in the hall with a large glass in his hand. The man had a high color, but his eyes had a strained look and his lips a curious bluish tinge. He appeared to be quite sober, which caused her some surprise, but he was talking rather freely and his laugh was harsh. She thought he looked coarse and overbearing in his present mood.
The large hall was tastefully paneled in cedar, a fire of pine logs burned on the open hearth, and small lamps hung among the wooden pillars. A drawing-room and a billiard-room, both warmed and lighted, opened out of it, but Osborne left his guests to do what they liked best, and nobody seemed inclined to move. Ruth and Aynsley were talking near the hearth, Miss Dexter had some embroidery in her hands, and Osborne lounged in a deep chair beside the table. Clay, with the now empty glass in his hand, leaned negligently upon the table, feeling well satisfied with himself. His manners were not polished, but he was aware of it, and never pretended to graces he did not possess. He smiled when he caught Miss Dexter’s censorious glance.
“I’m often in trouble, ma’am, and find I can’t fight on coffee and ice-water,” he explained humorously.
“Perhaps that’s one of their advantages,” Miss Dexter replied. “But as we’re not quarrelsome people, you ought to enjoy a few days’ peace.”
“That’s so. I guess I warmed up over telling your brother-in-law about my latest battle.” He turned to Osborne. “Frame and Nesbitt were in this morning, ready to take what I’d give them on their knees. Fletcher came and tried to bluff, but he wilted when I cracked the whip. I have the gang corralled, and they’ll go broke before they get out.”
Clay’s rather obvious failings included an indulgence in coarse vainglory, though he had generally the sense to check it when it might prove a handicap. Now, however, he was in an expansive mood, inclined to make the most of his triumph.
“The joke is that they were plumb-sure they’d squeeze me dry,” he went on. “Got hold of a tip about the development land purchase plan and never guessed I’d planted it for them. Morgan cost me high, and his nerve is bad, but he’s a cute little rat, and works well in the dark.”
“I thought the opposition had bought him,” Osborne said.
“So they did,” Clay chuckled. “Now they want his blood, and I believe Denby’s mad enough about it to have him sandbagged. That plays into my hand, because the fellow will stick to me for protection. If he tries to strike me for extra pay, I’ve only to threaten I’ll throw him to the wolves. Guess the way they’re howling has scared him pretty bad.”