Queed felt like answering West's pepper-fire of casuistry by throwing Eva Bernheimer at his head. Despite his determination to avoid a "scene," he felt his bottled-up indignation rising. A light showed in his stone-gray eyes.
"Can't you really see that these circumstances are not in the least like those? Did you do me the courtesy to read what I wrote about this so-called 'economy argument' last night?"
"Certainly," said West, surprised by the other's tone. "But clever as it was, it was not based, in my opinion, on a clear understanding of the facts as they actually exist. You and I stay so close inside of four walls here that we are apt to get out of touch with practical conditions. Yesterday, I was fortunate enough to get new facts, from a confidential and highly authoritative source. In the light of these—I wish I could explain them more fully to you, but I was pledged to secrecy—I am obliged to tell you that what you had written seemed to me altogether out of focus, unfair, and extreme."
"Did you get these facts, as you call them, from Plonny Neal?"
"As to that, I am at liberty to say nothing."
Queed, looking at him, saw that he had. He began to feel sorry for West.
"I would give four hundred and fifty dollars," he said slowly—"all the money that I happen to have—if you had told me last night that you meant to do this."
"I am awfully sorry," said West, with a touch of dignity, "that you take it so hard. But I assure you—"
"I know Plonny Neal even better than you do," continued Queed, "for I have known him as his social equal. He is laughing at you to-day."
West, of course, knew better than that. The remark confirmed his belief that Queed had brooded over the reformatory till he saw everything about it distorted and magnified.