The bluffness faded out of Richards’ face and left ugliness disclosed.
“He brought that old yarn back with him from Carrington’s yesterday, I suppose,” he sneered, jerking his head toward Hastings.
Hastings had that rare faculty of knowing when to let the game play itself.
“Very naturally, Mr. Richards,” said Mr. Wade, with dangerous smoothness; “but that is not the question.”
Richards’ face darkened.
“I’ll tell you what the question is, Mr. Wade, and you can settle it right now,” he snarled. “It’s whether you are going to take the word of the man who has made the mine, or the word of the man who’s trying to blackmail it, so’s he can buy it cheap.”
It was a good issue, so good that Richards himself was proud of it. He leaned back in his chair with something of a swagger.
“That you are still in charge of the Tray-Spot is the best proof of my confidence in you,” Mr. Wade said, in a more gracious tone, “but I propose to place the Carringtons in a position where they will have to admit that they are in the wrong, as you say they are. We will tell them that they may send a representative through our mine at any time, and that he will be accorded every courtesy.”
“Not on your life, we won’t!” said Richards, fiercely.
“That,” said Mr. Wade, serenely, “is a matter where we differ.”