"Save me a trip over to Casey Town, mebbe," Sandy added.
"I got mad just now, Bourke, because of the interference of a man I fired for lack of common sense, experience and recognition of his superiors. Westlake is a hot-head and I suppose he has some idea of trying to get even with me by belittling me in your eyes and running down my management. I think I have shown my interests allied with yours. Mrs. Keith and I."
"She don't come into this. You didn't answer my question, Keith. How about it?"
"It's a damned falsehood."
"Then why are you sellin' your stock?"
The words came like bullets as Sandy whipped the certificate out of the envelope and slapped it smartly on the desk. Keith whitened, flushed again, recovered himself.
"If I was not friendly to you, Bourke, I should take that as a direct insult. I can understand that you believe in Westlake and take stock in what he told you. But he is a discharged employee. He has every reason...."
Sandy held up his hand.
"He's a friend of mine," he said. "Keith, I may not know the minin' game—as you play it. In some ways it's gamblin', like playin' poker. I've played that a heap. I can tell pritty well when a man's bluffin'. Mebbe you're losin' some of yore nerve lately. You show it in yore face. Yore eyes flickered when you said it was a 'damned falsehood.' I don't hanker to insult a man but—I don't believe you. An' here's this stock you sold. I've got the names of more you sold it to. Why?"
"A man in my position," said Keith slowly, "swings many big deals and sometimes he is pushed for ready money."