“Well, yes—not in writing, however. I gave Ogilvy to understand that if he was not ready in thirty days, an extension could readily be arranged.”
“Any witnesses?”
“I am not such a fool, sir,” Poundstone declared with asperity. “I had a notion—I might as well admit it—that you would have serious objection to having your tracks cut by a jump-crossing at B and Water streets.” And for no reason in life except to justify himself and inculcate in Pennington an impression that the latter was dealing with a crafty and far-seeing mayor, Poundstone smiled boldly and knowingly. “I repeat,” he said, “that I did not put it in writing.” He leaned back nonchalantly and blew smoke at the ceiling.
“You oily rascal!” Pennington soliloquized. “You're a smarter man than I thought. You're trying to play both ends against the middle.” He recalled the report of his private detective and the incident of Ogilvy's visit to young Henry Poundstone's office with a small leather bag; he was more than ever convinced that this bag had contained the bribe, in gold coin, which had been productive of that temporary franchise and the verbal understanding for its possible extension.
“Ogilvy did business with you through your son Henry,” he challenged. Poundstone started violently. “How much did Henry get out of it?” Pennington continued brutally.
“Two hundred and fifty dollars retainer, and not a cent more,” Poundstone protested virtuously—and truthfully.
“You're not so good a business man as I gave you credit for being,” the Colonel retorted mirthfully “Two hundred and fifty dollars! Oh, Lord! Poundstone, you're funny. Upon my word, you're a scream.” And the Colonel gave himself up to a sincerely hearty laugh. “You call it a retainer,” he continued presently, “but a grand jury might call it something else. However,” he went on after a slight pause, “you're not in politics for your health; so let's get down to brass tacks. How much do you want to deny the N.C.O. not only an extension of that temporary franchise but also a permanent franchise when they apply for it?”
Poundstone rose with great dignity. “Colonel Pennington, sir,” he said, “you insult me.”
“Sit down. You've been insulted that way before now. Shall we say one thousand dollars per each for your three good councilmen and true, and for yourself that sedan of my niece's? It's a good car. Last year's model, but only run about four thousand miles and in tiptop condition. It's always had the best of care, and I imagine it will please Mrs. P. immensely and grant you surcease from sorrow. Of course, I will not give it to you. I'll sell it to you—five hundred down upon the signing of the agreement, and in lieu of the cash, I will take over that jitney Mrs. Poundstone finds so distasteful. Then I will employ your son Henry as the attorney for the Laguna Grande Lumber Company and give him a retainer of twenty-five hundred dollars for one year. I will leave it to you to get this twenty-five hundred dollars from Henry and pay my niece cash for the car. Doesn't that strike you as a perfectly safe and sane proposition?”
Had a vista of paradise opened up before Mr. Poundstone, he could not have been more thrilled. He had been absolutely honest in his plea to Mrs. Poundstone that he could not afford a thirty-two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar sedan, much as he longed to oblige her and gain a greatly to be desired peace. And now the price was dangling before his eyes, so to speak. At any rate it was parked in the porte-cochere not fifty feet distant!