Britt shook the paper. “How would this show up?”
Vaniman did not lose his composure. “Why don't you read it aloud? You have stirred curiosity in Mr. and Mrs. Harnden, I see.”
“And I'll stir something else in a girl you're trying to fool! But I'm gong to save this letter for that board meeting; I'll have you fired by a regular vote—and I'll send the record of that vote to every bank in this part of the country. Then see how far you'll get with your lies about my jealousy!” Britt was plainly determined to allow guesswork to deal in the blackest construction regarding the letter.
Vaniman turned his back on the others. He talked directly to Vona. The agonized query in her eyes demanded a reply from him. “Mr. Britt has in his hand a letter from some banking friend of his. The letter says that my father was sentenced to the penitentiary, charged with embezzlement. That is so. My father died there. But it was wicked injustice. You and your father and mother are entitled to know that an honest man was made a scapegoat.”
“Excuse me!” broke in Harnden. “We are outsiders and will probably remain so, and have no hankering to pry into family matters.”
“I did not intend to tell the story now, Mr. Harnden. It's too sacred a matter to be discussed in the presence of that man who stands there trying to make a club of the thing to ruin my hopes and my life. This is a hateful situation. I apologize. But he has forced me to speak out, as I have done, telling you and your wife of my love for Vona.”
“I don't see how you dare to speak of it, seeing what the circumstances are,” declared the father; there was a murmur of corroboration from the mother.
“It's a cheeky insult to all concerned,” shouted Britt.
“No, it's my best attempt to be honest and open and a man,” insisted Vaniman. “I have left no chance for gossip to bring tales to you, Mr. Harnden.”
But Mr. Harnden sliced the air with a hand that sought to sever further conference. “Absolutely impossible, young man.”