The old man grunted.
“I had to have air; I knew all the time that was what I needed; these damned doctors only keep people in bed so they can bulldoze ’em easier.”
Copeland was attempting to be friendly, but Farley was in no humor to meet his advances.
“That last payment on the sale of my stock is due September first. I won’t renew it,” he said sharply.
“I hadn’t asked for an extension,” Copeland replied coldly.
“All right, then; that will be the end of that.”
Farley’s tone implied that there might be other matters between them that this final payment would still leave open.
Copeland’s ready promise that the twenty-five thousand would be paid irritated Farley, who saw one excuse for his animosity vanishing. He leaned forward and pointed his finger at Copeland, who was backing away, anxious to be gone before his former wife reappeared.
“You’re ruinin’ the house! You’re lettin’ it go to hell—the business your father and I made the best jobbin’ house in this State! You’re a drunkard and a gambler, but, damn your fool soul, there’s one thing you can’t do—you can’t marry that little girl o’ mine! If you’ve got that up your sleeve, be sure there’s no money goes with her for you to squander! Remember that!”
It was the busiest hour of the day and the street was thronged. Pedestrians turned and stared curiously. Copeland raged inwardly at his stupidity in giving Farley a chance to abuse him publicly.