“Confound it, Peter, you heard what I said. I’ve canceled that order. Do you get it now?”
The large man nodded. The brains behind his mild eyes were working swiftly, shrewdly.
“Will’s in town. Been in since yesterday morning,” he said after a while. “Seen him?”
Jim suddenly sprang from his seat, the moody fire of his dark eyes blazing furiously.
“Seen him! Seen him!” he cried, with a sudden letting loose of all the bitterness and smouldering passion which had been so long pent up. “Seen him? I should say I have. I’ve seen him as he really is. I’ve seen–––”
He broke off and began to pace the room. Peter was still at the table. His hands were still raking at the pile of dirt. His face was quite unmoved at the other’s evident passion; only his eyes displayed his interest.
“God! but the thought of him sets me crazy,” Jim went on furiously. Then he paused, and stood confronting the other. “Peter, I came in here without knowing why on earth I came. I came because something forced 64 me, I s’pose. Now I know what made me come. I’ve got to get it off my chest, and you’ve got to listen to it.”
Peter’s smile was the gentlest thing imaginable.
“Guess that’s easy,” he said. “I knew there was something you’d got that wasn’t good for you to hold. Sort of fancied you’d like to get rid of it––here.”
The calm sincerity of the man was convincing. Jim felt its effect without appreciation, for the hot blood of bitterness still drove him. His wrongs were still heavy upon him, water-logging his better sense, and leaving it rudderless.