"I'll give you two minutes to divide with us."
At the end of a minute they were glaring into each other's faces like beasts of prey. Wilkinson held up his hand and repeated:
"You can take it or leave it, just as you please."
"Thirds or nothing," answered the other stubbornly, at which reply Wilkinson thrust his watch into his pocket and strolled toward the door, where he waited until Flomerfelt raised his hand; and in that brief moment it was borne in upon him that he was not the Wilkinson of old, that he had, somehow, lost his grip.
"You decline?" asked Flomerfelt. "All right! Then to-morrow the whole story goes to Leslie Wilkinson."
"What whole story, Mr. Flomerfelt?" asked a young woman, now entering the room, and so pleasantly that for a moment Flomerfelt fell back aghast.
"What story, Mr. Flomerfelt?" she repeated. But again he did not answer. And her father, taking his courage in both hands, came forward and said:
"The time has come, girlie, when you've got to make a choice for life—you've got to tell me where you stand—on my side or theirs."
Leslie slowly retreated to the door; a man entered and stood beside her.
"I've made my choice, father. This is Eliot Beekman, my husband," she announced bravely, a smile on her lips.