“Do they often disagree so?”
“No. And today there’s only one candidate; there must be something doing.” The speaker moved quickly away.
Max noticed this, and Walter’s increasing vehemence; and instantly a premonition of disaster swept him like a cold, wet blast.
A premonition of disaster swept him
“I tell you I won’t stand for any thieves being voted into the Fussers,” Walter shouted, heedless of a sibilant “Hush!” from one of the others.
“I’ll stake my honor he’s all right,” Billy Bennett shouted back, and Max silently blessed him for those words.
Max understood—saw it all as plain as the sum of two and two. This was the way Walter Buckman had taken to “get even.” He had urged Reed Hathaway to present Max’s name, had “talked up” the candidate right and left, and had even told Billy, who had repeated it to Max, that the proposed member would lend more style and more genius to the club than any ten previous members.
Now Max knew these honeyed praises were only for the purpose of attracting attention, for filling the room with the curious, so that Walter’s bomb would have an audience.
Max decided to hurry the explosion. He stepped forward and faced the committee in the corner. “I understand that my name is the only one under consideration, and that the investigating committee is embarrassed concerning it. I withdraw my name as a candidate for the Fussers Club.” He bowed and was turning away when Walter Buckman strode into the middle of the room with an air of importance, exclaiming: