“Thank you,” said Farley, as he ascended the steps.
IV
Douglas Briggs stood motionless. His face was hot; he could feel his pulse beating in his temples. Sometimes he wondered if he betrayed the fever that the mere mention of that railroad and the scandals connected with it always caused him. The music had begun again, and he could hear the dancers and the loud talk, broken by laughter. Some of the voices he recognized, among them Fanny’s and Guy Fullerton’s. His wife’s voice he could not hear. He started at the sound of a quick footfall. When he looked up Franklin West’s white teeth were gleaming at him from the head of the stairs.
“Oh, here you are!” said West. “I’ve been trying to get a chance to speak to you all evening.” He looked hard at Briggs, and the smile faded. “Anything the matter?”
Briggs drew his arm away and West let his hand drop to his side. “Yes. Farley, of the New York Gazette—you know him, don’t you? I’ve just been having a talk with him—he says the Chronicle is getting ready to jump on me.”
West lifted his brows with a nice imitation of surprise. “About what?”
“About our precious railroad business, of course.”
West looked relieved. “They can’t hurt you,” he said, contemptuously.
“I’m not so sure about that. A paper like the Chronicle carries weight. It’s not like the small fry that have been knifing me lately.”