“That’s a perfectly fair bill,” defended the visitor. “But for The Guardian, it would have gone through before. Now—”
“Now we’ll kill it again if it shows its crooked head. Tell Montrose Clark that from me. And tell him that I won’t need any loan from the Drovers’ Bank to do it.”
“Very well,” sighed the lawyer. “No hard feelings, my boy. Business is business.”
Reporting to his chief, Dana stated:
“He won’t dicker.”
“As I told you,” replied Montrose Clark in pompous self-appreciation of his own prophecy.
“Well, no harm in trying.... We can pass the Blanket Franchise Bill after The Guardian is dead.”
“How long can it last?”
“Not three months, according to what I can gather.” The president of the Fenchester Public Utilities Corporation began to puff up and grow red in the face and squirm in his seat. Finally it came out explosively: “Dana, I don’t want to pass the damned bill—at that price.”
“Neither do I.”