“Look here,” said the bullet-headed personage to young Jordan. “What do you mean by forcing yourself into a conversation which does not concern you?”
The young fellow looked at him, still quietly.
“I think you are mistaken,” said he. “The conversation does concern me intimately.” Then turning to the planter he added, “You’ll understand that, sir, when I tell you that I am the son of Carroll Jordan whom Colonel Huntley has seen fit to slander.”
Huntley’s cold eyes stared into those of the speaker; he lounged back in his chair, and when he spoke his voice was menacing.
“This is the second time in the last half hour,” said he, “that you’ve taken occasion to rub me the wrong way. If you were well acquainted with me you wouldn’t do it.”
“I think,” returned the young man, calmly, “that I am as well acquainted with you as I care to be. Your method of doing things, Colonel Huntley, is not to my taste. I dislike a man who sets out to insult some one whom he’s opposed to, and then steps aside so that some one in his pay may do the dirty work.”
“What’s that?” snarled Barker, rising to his feet.
“Your plan, Colonel Huntley,” went on Walter Jordan, disregarding the bullet-headed young man entirely, and addressing himself to his principal, “is rather a good one, as plans go. You would get the result you are after, and yet would not actively figure in the matter. I suppose Sam Davidge arranged that with you in the secret consultations you’ve been having in the last little while.”
Barker, an ugly expression upon his face, tapped young Jordan on the shoulder.
“Talk to me,” said he. “You’ve said I do some one’s dirty work; and so I’m going to give you a chance to prove it.”