CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
EARLY the next morning glaziers, carpenters, and telephone repair men monopolized the Vose-Mern offices to the exclusion of regular business. The chief had told his office force to stay away for the day.
He had found one chair that was whole, and he sat and watched the “after the storm” effect gradually disappear.
Mern’s thoughts were as much in disorder as the interior he was surveying.
Instead of feeling lively enmity in the case of Latisan, he was admitting to himself that he rather admired the young wildcat from the woods. At any rate, Latisan had accepted at face value Mern’s repeated dictum that if the other fellow could get Mern while Mern was set on getting the fellow, there would be no grudges. Latisan’s come-back, the chief reflected, was crude work, but it was characteristically after the style of the men of the open; and the wreck of an office was less disastrous than the wreck of a man’s prospects and his very soul. Mern was not a bit of a sentimentalist, but he could see the situation vaguely from Latisan’s standpoint. And he realized that there was still something behind it all which he had not come at.
He was roused from his ponderings by the crunching of feet on broken glass, and looked up and beheld Latisan. Halted just inside the door of the main office was a policeman in uniform. And the officer, well known by Mern, caught the chief’s eye and winked.
Mern jumped to his feet; he was much astonished and glanced to see whether Latisan’s fists were doubled.
“Good morning, sir!” said the caller, politely. “I have come around early to let you know that I’m not the kind of a man who does a thing and runs away from the responsibility of it.”
With prolonged scrutiny—stares which crossed like fencing blades—the two principals mutely questioned each other. Latisan displayed the most composure. He had not the same reason as had Mern to be surprised; it was immediately made plain that Latisan had devoted some thought to preparations for the interview. He stepped closer. Even though his smile seemed to be meant as an assurance of amity, Mern flinched; he remembered that the woodsman had begun the battle the day before after a remark in a most placid tone.