“Just didn’t care to sell, that was all.”
Rankin gave a nasty chuckle. “Wait till Jule hears about it. He’ll make that old buzzard sweat blood, let me tell you! He’ll be glad to sell—for nothing. Why, say, for all that coin, he ought to have throwed in the skirt for good measure. Maybe, Jule could use her—as his stenographer.”
Lennox stopped suddenly and confronted the other.
“What was that, Rankin?” he asked, peering hard at him.
“I said the Huntington kid might have to go to work for Jule as a stenographer, before he’s through with her father,” was the surly response.
“Miss Huntington does not enter into this thing. Do you understand that?” said Lennox harshly.
They continued in silence down the street and came to a halt before the Western Union telegraph office.
“I’m taking the morning train back to Geerusalem,” announced Rankin. “Before I go, I want to say one thing, and that is—I didn’t know you were interested in Dot Huntington or I wouldn’t have made the crack I did.” He paused and added meaningly: “I don’t think Jule did either, or he certainly wouldn’t have sent you to put through this deal. It’ll be up to you to convince him why it fell through when it shouldn’t have. You get me, don’t you?” With a curt nod, he turned on his heel and walked away.
Lennox looked after him for a moment, then he entered the telegraph office. As he prepared to send a wire to Jule Quintell he muttered to himself: “I don’t blame them for refusing. She’s a wonderful little girl.”