"Stigler's allus been known for bein' a keen, cut-rate hardware man. By the gods, he's goin' to stay it. I'm strong enough to run my business without leanin' on you fellers, and I ain't goin' to let the public think for one second that I ain't."
"Then good night to you, sir!" said Barlow, angrily. I was mad clear through.
Stigler shrugged his shoulders. "Yer think I'm easy, don't yer?" he sneered, and went out.
When he had gone, Barlow put his hand on my shoulder.
"Dawson," he said, "Stigler has lived in this town for many years, trading on the reputation of his father, who was a fine gentleman. But he's been losing the better-class trade rapidly, and is only holding up business by cutting prices right and left. That policy can't win in the end."
"For heaven's sake! Mr. Barlow," I cried, "why did you ask him here? If there is one man I detest more than another, it's Stigler!"
"Because," he replied gravely, "if we are going to exercise coöperation, it must be complete, and personalities must be sunk for the greater issues. I like Stigler even less than you do, but that mustn't prevent us giving him an opportunity to work with us."
"Well, he's refused, and the two of us can work together on these plans," I said.
Then, to my utter amazement, Barlow shook his head, and said: "We can't do it, Dawson."
"B-but," I stammered, "in the train you said you thought it was a good idea!"