“Yes; but what's that got to do with it?” Then, with exasperation in his voice, “For God's sake, Hal, how much farther do you expect to go?”
Hal stood for a few moments, looking at his brother. Even in a tension as he was, he could not help laughing. “I know how all this must seem to you, Edward. It's a long story; I hardly know how to begin.”
“No, I suppose not,” said Edward, drily.
And Hal laughed again. “Well, we agree that far, at any rate. What I was hoping was that we could talk it all over quietly, after the excitement was past. When I explain to you about conditions in this place—”
But Edward interrupted. “Really, Hal, there's no use of such an argument. I have nothing to do with conditions in Peter Harrigan's camps.”
The smile left Hal's face. “Would you have preferred to have me investigate conditions in the Warner camps?” Hal had tried to suppress his irritation, but there was simply no way these two could get along. “We've had our arguments about these things, Edward, and you've always had the best of me—you could tell me I was a child, it was presumptuous of me to dispute your assertions. But now—well, I'm a child no longer, and we'll have to meet on a new basis.”
Hal's tone, more than his words, made an impression. Edward thought before he spoke. “Well, what's your new basis?”
“Just now I'm in the midst of a strike, and I can hardly stop to explain.”
“You don't think of Dad in all this madness?”
“I think of Dad, and of you too, Edward; but this is hardly the time—”