“Jack, you will write me a check for that money—your commission, as you call it, deducting the one thousand that was paid for this option, or I’ll make Mariona too hot to hold you.”
“This is blackmail, and, by God! I won’t submit to it,” shouted Balcomb.
“Maybe so, and you can get redress later if it is. I want your check—whether it’s any good or not.”
“I’ll give you half of it if the old man’s beefing,” said Balcomb, after a minute’s reflection.
“All—right away—quick!”
Leighton rose and stood with his hands thrust into his pockets while Balcomb turned to his desk and wrote the check.
The girl outside was heard debating with the caller, who refused to be denied.
The door opened suddenly and Leighton, with the check and option in his hand, looked up to see Captain Pollock standing within the partition, his little stick, as usual, under his arm.
“Leighton,” he said quite imperturbably, “I’m awfully sorry to disturb you, but I’m really glad you’re here. In fact, I thought for a moment of going to your office to ask you to come with me—to call on our gifted friend.”
“You get out of here, you damned little—”