“I haven't asked you to.”
He smiled. “No, you haven't,” he said. “Well, it is open—for a while. If I were you I'd accept it pretty soon.”
“Possibly.”
“Meaning that I am not you, hey? I'm not. I haven't your high principles, Paine. Can't afford 'em. You're what they call a 'Progressive' in politics, too, aren't you?”
“Here is your money,” I said, ignoring the question.
“I'll bet you are!” he declared, taking the bills. “I never saw one of you high-principled chaps yet that wasn't—until he got rich enough to be something else. Progress is all right, maybe, but I notice that you fellows pay for it and the rest of us get it. Just as I am going to get that land of yours.”
“You haven't got it yet,” I said, serenely. I had made up my mind that this time he should not provoke me into losing my temper.
He seemed to divine my determination. His eye twinkled. “You're improving, Paine,” he observed. “I'll give you a piece of advice; it has cost me a good deal to learn, but I'll give it to you: Don't ever let the other fellow make you mad.”
I remembered our first interview and I could not resist the temptation to retort.
“If my recollection is correct,” I said, “you forgot that the first time we met.”