"Waiting be hanged! I'm here for money—money that's mine. If I can't work it with the man who pays out the loaves and fishes, I'll try one of the men that contribute them, in the first place." He tossed his head insultingly towards the door that led to Ingles's office.
McDowell's elbow rested on the edge of his desk (his thumb on the tip of his ear and his middle finger rubbing his farther eyebrow) as he looked out steadily on Vibert from under his hand. "Joseph," he called to his clerk, "bring me that check-book."
"He looked steadily on Vibert from under his hand."
The man opened a lower drawer and brought out a book whose covers enclosed a number of stubs and three or four blank checks.
McDowell wrote and passed the check to Vibert, who went out with no further words on either side.
McDowell did some figuring and saw some people, and somewhat later Vibert returned. He threw his check on McDowell's desk contemptuously. "That's no good."
"How's that?"
"No account with 'em."