I jumped. "On yours!"
"Didn't that little bully, when he lost his temper that day at the Van Twiller, when we had our last fight—didn't he pull a paper out of his box and shake it in my face, and—"
"But—you could have them arrested for conspiracy and—"
"And the proof of it could be destroyed and then—but I can't see how this interests you."
"No—no," I said thoughtfully. "I only happened to lump it in with the contract we haven't—you and I. And as there's no contract, why there's no need of my waiting till the end of the season."
"Do you mean to say you'd—you'd—"
"If 'twere done, 'twere better it'd be done—quickly," I said Macbethically.
He looked at me. Sitting there on his desk, his clenched fist on his knee, he looked for a moment as though he was about to fly at me. Then all of a sudden he slipped into his chair, leaned back and laughed.
It wasn't a pleasant laugh, Mag. No—wait. Let me tell you the rest.
"You are so shrewd, Olden, so awfully shrewd! Your eye is so everlastingly out for the main chance, and you're still so young that I predict a—a great future for you. I might even suggest that by cultivating Tausig personally—"