“Well, I've got a little more to say to you,” said Bridge. “I came around here on my own hook to find out whether you were just making your regular bluff or whether you meant to fight, and I've found out. And now I'm going to give you your choice. I'll either give you the hottest scrap you ever had, and make what I can out of Weeks by it, or I'll go in with you so you can get your deal through quietly. You can take your choice.”
“What the devil do you mean?”
“I mean just this. That if there's any possible show of kicking that damned bully out of here so that he'll never come back, I'd like to be in it. And I guess my services would be valuable.”
“Look here,” demanded Blaney, sharply. “What have you got against Weeks?”
“What have I got against him?” repeated Bridge. His face was flushed and his shining eyes and clenched hands testified to his excitement. “Hasn't he made me pull his hot chestnuts off the fire for the last two years? Hasn't he held me up and made me pay a good rake-off from every deal I've been lucky enough to make a little on? And hasn't he loaned me money until I don't dare sign my own name without asking him if I can do it, and—” He stopped as though knowing he had gone too far; then he laughed nervously. “It's all right what I've got against him; that's my business, I guess, but—”
Again the unfinished sentence was eloquent.
This time it was Blaney who broke the silence. “I guess,” he said cautiously, “that if you want to tip Weeks over, you'll find there'll be some to help you.”
Bridge laughed bitterly. “There are plenty who'd be glad enough to do it if they could. He's had his grip on all of us long enough for that; but I'm afraid it's no good. We can't beat him. He's got us in a vise.”
“I don't know about that,” said Blaney.
“Why, man,” exclaimed the other, “what can we do? And if we try to buck him and get left, he'll squeeze the life out of us. You know that.”