“When?”
“When we close. If you can let me off before then—”
Cleeburg’s laugh cut the sentence like an ax. It held—sharp, contemptuous. Then his teeth shut on his cigar until the end broke off in his mouth.
“Who’s offering to star you?” came tersely.
A flash from the other’s eye answered the arraignment. But his reply was low and quiet.
“Nobody.”
“Since when did you take me for an easy mark?”
“’Dolph,” Brooks began, “you and I have been on the level with each other always. I’ve played fair and I’m going to keep on playing fair. I’m quitting for reasons I can’t make clear to you now. You’ll have to take my word for it.”
“The hell I will!” Cleeburg shot out. “This has been coming a long time. I saw it when you were in the [204] ]country. Swelled head—that’s the answer! Didn’t think they could do it to you. But those society snobs have got you thinking you’re Edwin Booth.”
The other man’s thin lips opened. His eyes narrowed with a look almost of menace. Then in silence he picked up a flexible paper cutter and bent it slowly in two. There was a snap. He chucked the pieces on the desk.