“There’s no use talking to me, Mr. Jolls. I haven’t got anything to say about the Priest aeroplanes. You ought to know that. All I do is to drive them. And if you did anything to me, you’d have just as much trouble.”
“Now I know, my boy—” came P. J. Jolls’ greasy voice, soothingly.
“Now I know,” Poodle heard Hike interrupting, in there, in the cabin, “I know that you and Captain Welch are trying to steal Priest’s rights from him and get the army-appropriation for your old machines. I’m sorry I haven’t got any final say about the thing, because if I did have I’d fight you to the end. But I haven’t got the least bit to say. So you’re only wasting your time trying to get me to keep away from Priest. Why, can’t you see for yourself, I’m only a kid, and—”
“Yes, my boy, I can see you’re ‘only a kid.’ Not so much because of your appearance, but because you won’t listen to reason. Now you listen to me.” Poodle felt that Mr. Jolls was getting rather angry. “I know, from inside sources, the Army Board is going to throw out the Priest aeroplane entirely, because it isn’t practical for use in war.”
“You’re a liar,” Hike was heard to state, wearily and most impolitely.
“Will you listen to me, or not?”
“Oh, yes, I suppose I’ll have to—tied up like this. And it was you that made ’em tie me again. I won’t forget that.”
When he heard the words “tied up,” Poodle’s flesh prickled coldly all over. Hike—tied up! He felt that any punishment he could devise for Jolls would be too easy. Well, he’d try to hit Jolls in the pocketbook. That would hurt more than anything else! Meanwhile, Jolls was continuing:
“I wish you could understand me, Griffin. I don’t believe I’ve ever admired any young man so much as I admired you when I heard of the magnificent way in which you handled that rotten Priest tetrahedral in your cross-country flight. Why, I want you to be one of my chief aviators, my boy. At a great big salary. I’ve met your father—I have the keenest—”
“You let my father alone, will you?” snapped Hike.