The tipple-boss went back into the office; and a minute later Hal saw what had been intended. The door opened and Alec Stone came out.
He stood for a moment looking at his political henchman. Then he came up. “Kid,” he said, in a low voice, “you're overdoing this. I didn't intend you to go so far.”
“This is not what you intended, Mr. Stone,” answered Hal.
The pit-boss came closer yet. “What you looking for, kid? What you expect to get out of this?”
Hal's gaze was unwavering. “Experience,” he replied.
“You're feeling smart, sonny. But you'd better stop and realise what you're up against. You ain't going to get away with it, you know; get that through your head—you ain't going to get away with it. You'd better come in and have a talk with me.”
There was a silence.
“Don't you know how it'll be, Smith? These little fires start up—but we put 'em out. We know how to do it, we've got the machinery. It'll all be forgotten in a week or two, and then where'll you be at? Can't you see?”
As Hal still made no reply, the other's voice dropped lower. “I understand your position. Just give me a nod, and it'll be all right. You tell the men that you've watched the weights, and that they're all right. They'll be satisfied, and you and me can fix it up later.”
“Mr. Stone,” said Hal, with intense gravity, “am I correct in the impression that you are offering me a bribe?”