“Oh, wouldn’t I! You don’t know me. Perhaps you’ll change your mind about me some day. I don’t forgit things, and I don’t forgive, either.”
“That’s a right bad policy.”
“You needn’t talk! It don’t strike me that you’re one of the forgivin’ kind. I hain’t seen you snoopin’ ’round after any of the fellers that’s done you dirt.”
“Hardly. I’m not disposed to beg my enemies to accept my forgiveness, but if they should come to me man-fashion and ask to be forgiven, that would be different.”
“I don’t s’pose you’re chump enough to fancy they’ll ever do anything like that?”
“No, indeed. Still, as long as they let me alone things will move along right placid and serene.”
“But Barker didn’t let me alone. He won’t let you alone, either. He’s got it in for you, and he’s goin’ to soak you any chance he gets. He don’t like me because I told the truth about his chum, Bern Hayden, and saved my own neck by it. That’s a peach of a necktie you’re wearin’, Rod. Where’d you git it? Didn’t buy it ’round these parts, did ye?”
“Oh, no; I had it when I came here. Put in a full supply, you know.”
“You’re sort of dressin’ more’n you did at first. I don’t blame ye; I’d wear swell togs if I had ’em. This old tie of mine is gittin’ on the bum, but it’s all I’ve got.”
Smiling, Grant rose, opened a drawer and brought forth a number of neckties, which he tossed on the table. “Take your pick out of those,” he said. “You may have your choice.”