“You've answered my question,” he replied. “You think you can throw me out.”
“I ain't throwing anybody out,” muttered Blaney. He walked away and stood looking at the trench in the street which the men had sunk shoulder deep. Jim followed.
“I'm not through yet, Blaney.”
“I haven't got time to talk with you,” blustered the contractor. Jim stood a moment looking him over. Blaney's eyes were fixed on the Irishman.
“How much did he give you?” asked Jim, quietly.
Blaney whirled around.
“Look out,” he said. “I don't know what you're talking about, but a man can't say that to me.” His fists were clenched. Jim spoke without emotion.
“Drop it,” he said. “I'm not here for my health. I knew all that some hours ago. If I couldn't work it any better than you've done, I'd quit. Now what I want you to do, Blaney—”
“See here, you've said enough!” Blaney was excited. “You can't come around here and bulldoze me. We've bought that stock and we'll vote it as we like, damn it; and you can go to hell!”
Jim looked at him thoughtfully; then he went to his buggy and drove back to the hotel. He saw that Blaney was frightened, but he evidently was too thoroughly bought up to be easily shaken. With what some men called his “gameness” Jim dropped Blaney from his mind for the moment, and began to plan for a desperate counter move. Before he reached the hotel the move was decided upon, and Jim was placid.