He pulled himself up in his chair and squared his shoulders truculently.
"I guess Mallinsbee knows what this means—for him?" he inquired sharply, but coldly.
"I fancy Mr. Mallinsbee does."
"Now, see here, Mister—I ferget your name," Slosson cried, with sudden heat. "I'm not the man to be played around with. If this is your Mister Mallinsbee's final offer, it just means that the railroad can't do business with him. Which means also that his whole wild-cat land scheme falls flat, and is so much waste ground, only fit for grazing his rotten cattle on. I'm not here to mince words——"
"No," concurred Gordon in a steady, cold tone.
"I said I'm not here to mince words. If I can't get my original terms there's nothing doing, and I'll even promise, seeing we're alone, to get right out of my way to sew up this concern, lock, stock and barrel."
"That seems to be the obvious thing to do from your point of view—if you can," said Gordon calmly. "Seeing that Mr. Mallinsbee is nearly as rich as a railroad corporation, there may be difficulties. Anyway, threats aren't business talk, and generally display weakness. So, if you've no business to talk, if you don't feel like coming in on our terms—why, that's the door, and I guess your horse is still waiting for that hay you seemed to think just now he needed."
Gordon picked up a pen and proceeded deliberately to start writing a letter. He felt that David Slosson had something to digest, and needed time. All he feared now was that Mallinsbee or Hazel might come in before he rid the place of this precious representative of the railroad.
After a few moments he glanced up from his letter.
"Still here?" he remarked, with upraised brows.