“He stays while I stay,” was Fahey's last word in reply to an influential director, labouring in the interests of the party machine.
Failing with Fahey, the allied forces tried another line of attack. “Mexico” and the organization of which he was the head were instructed to “run him out.” Receiving his orders, “Mexico” called his agents together and invited their opinions. A sharp cleavage immediately developed, one party led by “Peachy” being strongly in favour of obeying the orders, the other party, leaderless and scattering, strongly opposed. Discussion waxed bitter. “Mexico” sat silent, watchful, impassive. At length, “Peachy,” in full swing of an impassioned and sulphurous denunciation of the doctor, his person and his ways, was called abruptly to order by a peremptory word from his chief.
“Shut up your fool head, 'Peachy.' To hear you talk you'd think you'd do something.”
A grim laugh at “Peachy's” expense went round the company.
“Do somethin'?” snarled “Peachy,” stung to fury, “I'll do somethin' one of these days. I've stood you all I want.”
“Peachy's” oaths were crude in comparison with “Mexico's,” but his fury lent them force. “Mexico” turned his baleful, gleaming eyes upon him.
“Do something? Meaning?”
“Never mind,” growled “Peachy.”
“Git!” “Mexico” pointed a long finger to the door. It was a word of doom, and they all knew it, for it meant not simply dismissal from that meeting, but banishment from the company of which “Mexico” was head, and that meant banishment from the line of the Crow's Nest Pass. “Peachy” was startled.
“You needn't be so blanked swift,” he growled apologetically. “I didn't mean for to—”