Reuben began to wonder once more what there was really in those fears. As he pondered on this, all the latent distrust of his partner which had been growing up for weeks in his mind suddenly swelled into a great dislike. There came to him, all at once, the recollection of those mysterious and sinister words he had overheard exchanged between his partner and Tenney, and it dawned upon his slow-working consciousness that that strange talk about a “game in his own hands” had never been explained by events. Then, in an instant, he realized instinctively that here was the game.
It was at this juncture that Horace strolled into the presence of his partner. He had his hands in his trousers pockets, and a cigar between his teeth. This latter he now proceeded to light.
“Ferguson has been here again,” he said, nonchalantly, “and brought his brother with him. He can’t make up his mind whether to appeal the case or not. He’d like to try it, but the expense scares him. I told him at last that I was tired of hearing about the thing, and didn’t give a damn what he did, as long as he only shut up and gave me a rest.”
Reuben did not feel interested in the Fergusons. He looked his partner keenly, almost sternly, in the eye, and said:
“You have never mentioned to me that Mrs. Minster had put her business in your hands.”
Horace flushed a little, and returned the other’s gaze with one equally truculent.
“It didn’t seem to be necessary,” he replied, curtly. “It is private business.”
“Nothing was said about your having private business when the firm was established,” commented Reuben.
“That may be,” retorted Horace. “But you have your railroad affairs—a purely personal matter. Why shouldn’t I have an equal right?”
“I don’t say you haven’t. What I am thinking of is your secrecy in the matter. I hate to have people act in that way, as if I couldn’t be trusted.”