"Good!" said Tarrant, at sight of the old man. "I had hoped you'd not keep us waiting, old moneybags!"
The new-comer laughed; it was a laugh that had a soothing, oily quality; one white hand stroked his well-shaven chin.
"I strive to be prompt," said he. "It's a virtue that has a deal of value in a business way. And being early to-night repaid me in an unexpected way; for while I waited in the public room I witnessed your encounter with Captain Weir."
Tarrant sat down; with his elbows on the table, his chin in his hands, he cursed in cold anger.
"Some day," he said, "I'll drive a bullet through that man's skull, so help me God!"
But the saintly old man held up a protesting hand.
"No, no!" said he. "Oh, no! We are friends. We are all friends together. We have business relations with Captain Weir. No violence; no discord. It would be to the disadvantage of us all."
"My thought!" said the big young man. "My thought, exactly, Mr. Bulfinch. Let us put all private matters to one side; for the present, at least, let us work for the common good."
Tarrant regarded them both with cold eyes.
"Is it for the common good that Weir affronts me at almost every turn?" said he. "Am I possessed of more patience than the run of men, that I'm continually asked to bear his impertinence?"