“You let up when you were afraid to go on,” taunted the other.
Jeremy’s face flamed. “You’re a—” he began, and stopped short, swallowing hard. “You’re right,” he said with quiet bitterness. “I was a quitter. It serves me right that you should be the second man to tell me so.”
“You quit too late.” The walrus was enjoying himself now.
“Evidently. All right, Mr. Wanser. The note will be paid when due. At least I’m glad we understand each other.”
The walrus, briefly meditant upon this, did n’t like it. “Don’t be so sure you understand it all,” was his parting word, by which he really meant that he failed to understand Jeremy. There was a large leaven of timidity in his imposing bulk.
To Andrew Galpin the interview as detailed by his boss proved no great surprise. “Dutch Bob”—thus he irreverently dubbed Fenchester’s leading banker—“is sore on two counts. You mussed up his bill. That’s the first and worst. The other is our support of Mart Embree.”
“But Embree and Wanser worked for the bill together.”
“Ay-ah. That’s all right. Wanser is all for Embree when he’s a German booster. He’s all against him when he’s a radical. It’s one of the twists of politics.”
“Why are they so hot about this school business anyway? It almost makes me believe that Wymett and Laurens are right in their Deutschtum theory.”
“Don’t you go seeing ghosts, Boss,” advised the general manager, good-humoredly.