“Well,” he said, “I suppose everyone has his own way of doing things; but do you know, you rather puzzle me sometimes?”
“I have no doubt of it,” Kenyon smiled.
“You see it’s not just the way to which I’m accustomed. I go at things in a more direct fashion.”
“As a rule I do myself. But this matter is different from most—so you must expect altered methods.”
“No doubt you are right. But you do so keep me on the jump. And you don’t keep me posted. You leave me to discover things for myself. Now I had not the faintest notion that you had succeeded in the big matter until Farbush told me, about an hour ago.”
“Things should work in their natural course,” replied the adventurer, coolly; “I don’t believe much in pæans of victory until the thing is thoroughly clinched.”
Again the curious look came into Forrester’s eyes. Kenyon noticed it, and for a moment feared that he had blundered. He had come to the conclusion, finally, that to get at the true inwardness of the matter in hand he must float with the current, that he must assume to be what they supposed him to be—and so he did not desire to excite the other’s suspicions. But the youth’s next words reassured him.
“There is truth in what you say,” said Forrester, slowly. “Somehow you keep showing me that, right along; and,” with a quick heave of his great shoulders, “I don’t mind saying that I sometimes find it aggravating.”
“Personal feelings should never tinge matters of business. That’s a useful rule.”
“I realize its value. But, then, human nature is human nature. A man is bound to grouch more or less when he finds himself displaced. However, you’ve done more in twenty-four hours than all the rest of us combined.”