“Tell me about it. I wish to size the thing up.”
With the exception of his encounter with the Mayor, Phil recounted all that had happened. He preferred keeping to himself that little bout he had had with Brenchfield, for he knew Jim already had suspicions that he and Brenchfield had some old secret antagonism toward each other. Some day, he thought, he might feel constrained to unburden himself on the point to Jim, but the time for that did not appear to be ripe.
“Darned funny!” remarked Langford, when Phil concluded. “I can’t recollect the man from your description and there doesn’t seem to be any connection between him and the flour and feed steal. But––what the devil could that fellow be after, anyway?”
Suddenly, as was his habit, he dismissed the subject and broke in on another.
“Say, Phil,––know who’s in the card-room?”
“No!”
“An old pal of yours!” He commenced to sing a line of an old Scot’s song:––“Rob Roy McGregor O.”
“Yes!”
“How’s your liver?”