A pause ensued. Tresler had played a high card. If Jake refused to be drawn it would be awkward. The pause seemed endless and he was forced to provoke an answer.
“Well?” he questioned sharply.
“Well,” echoed the foreman; and the other noted the quiet derision in his tone, “seems to me you’ve done a deal of figgering.”
Tresler nodded.
Jake turned away with something very like a smile. Evidently he had decided upon the course to be pursued. Tresler, watching him, could not quite make up his mind whether he was playing the winning hand, or whether his opponent was finessing for the odd trick. Jake suddenly became expansive.
“I’d like to know how we’re standin’ before we go further,” he said; “though, mind you, I ain’t asking. I tell you candidly I ain’t got no use for you, and I guess it would take a microscope to see your affection for me. This bein’ so, I ask myself, what has this feller come around with his yarn to me for? I allow there’s two possible reasons which strike me as bein’ of any consequence. One is that, maybe, some’eres in the back of your head, you’ve a notion that I know a heap about this racket, and sort o’ wink at it, seein’ Marbolt’s blind, an’ draw a bit out of the game. And the other is, you’re honest, an’ tryin’ to play the game right. Now, I’ll ask you not to get plumb scared when I tell you I think you’re dead honest about this thing. If I didn’t—wal, maybe you’d be lit out of this shack by now.”
Jake reached over to the table and picked up a plug of tobacco and tore off a chew with his great strong teeth. And Tresler could not help marveling at the pincher-like power with which he bit through the plug.
“Now, Tresler, there’s that between us that can never let us be friends. I’m goin’ to get level with you some day. But just now, as you said, we can let things bide. I say you’re honest in this thing, and if you choose to be honest with me I’ll be honest with you.”
One word flashed through Tresler’s brain: “finesse.”