“Certainly—for the time being, I’m located there.”
“We may as well be honest with each other,” asserted the magnate. “I consider that under the circumstances you behaved with serious discourtesy and without candor.” For a casual moment his glance dwelt on the portrait of Vivien which stood on his table.
“I disagree with you, sir. I preferred relating the full circumstances, which were unusual, when there was an opportunity to do so in person. I was kept there by your interests as well as my own.”
“That recital,” said the older man dryly, “is your concern. Now that I know the facts I find myself uninterested in the details. You have chosen your way. The question is whether we can travel it together.”
“And I presume that the first point of that question demands a full report upon the business operations.”
“So far as I can see, they have collapsed.”
“They have by no means collapsed.”
Suddenly the wrath that had been smoldering in Harrison’s eyes burst into tempest. He brought his clenched fist down upon his desk until inkwells and accessories rattled.
This man’s moments of equinox were terrifying to 263 those who must bow to his will—and his will held sway over broad horizons. If John Spurrier had not been intrepid he must have collapsed under the withering violence of the passion that rained on him.
“Before God,” cried Harrison, pacing his floor like a lion that lashes itself to frenzy, “you undertook to avenge me on Trabue. You have drawn on me with carte-blanche liberties and spent fortunes like a prodigal! You have assured me that you had, at all times, the situation well in hand. Then, through some damned blunder, you failed. Let the money loss slide. Damn the money! I’m the laughingstock of the business world. I’m delivered over to Trabue’s enjoyment as a boob who failed. I’m an absurdity, and you’re responsible!”