When she returned to Champers’ office Mr. Thomas Smith was already there, his small frame and narrow, close-set eyes and secretive manner seeming out of place in the breezy atmosphere of the plain, outspoken West of the settlement days. In the conversation that followed it seemed to Virginia that he controlled all of the real estate dealer’s words.
“I am sorry to say that there ain’t anything left in the 114 way of supplies, Mrs. Aydelot, except what’s reserved for worthy parties. I’ve looked over things carefully.” Darley Champers broke the silence at once.
“Who draws the line between the worthy and the unworthy, Mr. Champers?” Virginia asked. “I am told the relief supply is not exhausted.”
“Oh, the distributin’s in my hands in a way, but that don’t change matters,” Champers said.
“I read the rulings in the postoffice,” Virginia began.
“Yes, I had ’em put there. It saves a lot of misunderstandin’,” the guardian of supplies declared. “But it don’t change anything here.”
Virginia knew that her case was lost and she rose to leave the room. She had instinctively distrusted Darley Champers from their first meeting. She had disliked him as an ill-bred, blustering sort of man, but she had not thought him vindictive until now. Now she saw in him a stubborn, unforgiving man, small enough to work out of petty spite to the complete downfall of any who dared oppose his plans.
“Sit down, Mrs. Aydelot. As I said this mornin’, it’s too bad you can’t go back East now,” Champers said seriously.
“We can.” Virginia could not keep back the words.
Champers and Smith exchanged glances.