Jim flushed. “Nobody hain’t said nothin’ ’bout the shebang bein’ on the market,” he said, quickly.
Bob saw his mistake too late to rectify it, so he said nothing.
Webb smiled, and rose with an easy assumption of indifference and lighted a fresh cigar over the lamp-chimney. “Tibbs wants to rent me the new store-room joining you, Jim,” he said, rolling his cigar into the corner of his mouth and half closing the eye which was in direct line with the rising smoke. “I kinder thought I’d like them big plate-glass show-windows. Ten thousand dollars in bran-new groceries wouldn’t be bad, would they?”
Jim was taken slightly aback, but he recovered himself in an instant. “Not ef they was bought jest right, Harry,” he said, significantly. “A man mought have a purty fair start that way, ef he was experienced; but law me! I’d hate awful to start to lay in a stock frum these cussed drummers; they are wholesale bunco-sharks. An’ then, you see, I’ve been here sence this town fust started, an’ I know who will do to credit an’ who won’t. My blacklist is wuth five thousand to any man in this line. Thar’s men in this town that ’ll pay a gamblin’ debt ‘thout a bobble, an’ cuss like rips at the sight of a grocery bill. But thar ain’t no use talkin’; I reckon my business ain’t fer sale.”
Webb turned to Thornton and coolly asked for a match; then the entire group was silent till Bob Lash spoke.
“How in the world did you ever happen to come ’way out here, anyway, Jim?” he asked, obtusely believing that Bradley meant exactly what he had said in regard to Webb’s proposition, and that for all concerned it would be more agreeable and profitable to talk about something else.
“Got tired an’ wanted a change,” grunted Bradley. “I never was treated exactly right by my folks, an’ was itchin’ awful to make money.”
“What county did you say you was from?”
“Gilmer.”
Webb yawned aloud, puffed at his cigar, and swept the store from end to end with a rather critical, would-be dissatisfied glance.