“I'm too damned honest.... or too big a coward. Take your choice.”
“All right. I've taken it,” smiled the reporter.
Pat brought his big fist down on the table so forcefully that the books shook. “I'll not go to the penitentiary for an-ny man.... He wanted me to let him put two other teams on the rolls in my name. I wouldn't stand for it. That was six weeks ago. To-day he lets me out.”
Jeff began to see dimly the trail of the serpent graft. He lit his pipe before he spoke.
“Don't quite get the idea, Pat. Why wouldn't you?”
“Because I'm on the level. I'll have no wan tellin' little Mike his father is a dirty thief....It's this way. The rolls were to be padded, understand.”
“I see. You were to draw pay for three teams when you've got only one.”
“McGuire was to draw it, all but a few dollars a month.” The Irishman leaned forward, his eyes blazing. “And because I wouldn't stand for it I'm fired for neglecting my duty. I missed a street yesterday. If he'd been frientlly to me I might have missed forty.... But he can't throw me down like that. I've got the goods to show he's a dirty grafter. Right now he's drawing pay for seven teams that don't exist.”
“And he doesn't know you know it?”
“You bet he don't. I've guessed it for a month. To-day I went round and made sure.”