“Going to sell to the public-spirited bunch? Dean and the rest?”
“No.”
“You mean that? All right—all right. Say, Paine, I admire your nerve a good deal more than I do your judgment. You must understand that I am going to close that fool Lane of yours some time or other.”
“Your understanding and mine differ on that point.”
“Possibly, but they'll agree before I'm through. I am going to close that Lane.”
“I think not.”
“I'm going to close it for two reasons. First, because it's a condemned nuisance and ought to be closed. Second, because I make it a point to get what I go after. I can't afford not to. It is doing that very thing that has put me where I am.”
There was nothing to be said in answer to a statement like that. I did not try to answer it.
“Where you're holding down a job like mine,” he continued, crossing his knees and looking out across the bay, “you have to get what you go after. I'm down here and I mean to stay here as long as I want to, but I haven't let go of my job by a good deal. I've got private wires—telegraph and telephone—in my house and I keep in touch with things in the Street as much as I ever did. If anybody tries to get ahead of the old man because they think he's turned farmer they'll find out their mistake in a hurry.”
This seemed to be a soliloquy. I could not see how it applied to me. He went on talking.