"Very well," Baker acquiesced; "but I'd advise you to tackle Orde at once. Time is short. Try out your club to see if it will work."
"It will work!" stated Oldham confidently.
"Of course," remarked Baker, relaxing abruptly his attitude, physical and mental, and lighting a cigar, "of course, it is all very well to yank the temples down around the merry Philistines, but it doesn't do your Uncle Samson much good. We can raise hell with Welton and Orde and a half-dozen others, and we will, if they push us too hard—but that don't keep us the Basin if this crazy reformer testifies and pulls in Welton to corroborate him. I'd rather keep the Basin. If we could stop Orde----"
"I'll stop him," said Oldham.
"I hope," said Baker impressively, "that you have more than one string to your bow. I am not inquiring into your methods, you understand"—his pause was so significantly long at this point, that Oldham nodded—"but your sole job is to keep Orde out of court."
Baker looked his agent squarely in the eye for fifteen seconds. Then abruptly he dropped his gaze.
"That's all," said he, and reached for some papers.