"Why, yes—it's Emerson. How are you, Mr. Emerson?" He extended a soft hand, which Boyd took. Apparently reassured by this mute response, Marsh continued: "I heard you were in town. How is the new cannery coming on?"
"Nicely, thank you. When did you arrive from the East?"
"I just got in. Haven't had time to get straightened out yet. We—Mr. Wayland and I—were speaking of you before I left Chicago. We were—somewhat surprised to learn that you were engaging in the same line of business as ourselves."
"Doubtless."
"I told him there was room for us all."
"You did?"
"Yes! I assured him that his resentment was unwarranted."
"He resents something, does he?"
"Well, naturally," Marsh declared, with a wintry smile. "In view of the circumstances I may truthfully say that his feelings embrace not only a sense of resentment, but the firmly fixed idea that he has been betrayed—however, you are no doubt aware of all that. You have an able champion on the ground." He looked out across the street abstractedly. "Miss Wayland and I did our utmost to convince him you merely took a legitimate commercial advantage in dining at his house the night before you left."
"It was good of you to take my part," said Boyd, with such an air of simple cordiality that Marsh shot a startled glance at him. "Now that we are to be neighbors this summer, I hope we will get well acquainted, for Mr. Wayland spoke highly of you, and strongly advised me to pattern after you."