“Oh, no; I don't feel wasted.”
“We are also wasting opportunities,” continued Quarrier slowly. “This whole matter is involving us in a tangle of litigation requiring our constant effort, constant attention.”
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Quarrier, but you take it too seriously. I have found, in this affair, nothing except a rather agreeable mental exhilaration.”
“Mr. Plank, if you are not inclined to be serious—”
“I am,” said Plank so savagely that Quarrier, startled, could not doubt him. “I like this sort of thing, Mr. Quarrier. Anything that is hard to overcome, I like to overcome. The pleasure in life, to me, is to win out. I am fighting you with the greatest possible satisfaction to myself.”
“Perhaps you see victory ahead,” said Quarrier calmly.
“I do, Mr. Quarrier, I do. But not in the manner you fear I may hope for it.”
“Do you mind saying in what manner you are already discounting your victory, Mr Plank?”
“No, I don't mind telling you. I have no batteries to mask. I don't care how much you know about my resources; so I'll tell you what I see, Mr. Quarrier. I see a parody of the popular battle between razor-back and rattler. The rattler only strives to strike and kill, not to swallow. Mr. Quarrier, that old razor-back isn't going home hungry; but—he's going home.”
“I'm afraid I am not familiar enough with the natural history you quote to follow you,” said Quarrier with a sneer, his long fingers busy with the silky point of his beard.