“When will you let me know?” asked Killen anxiously.
“Will to-morrow morning do? In James' office, say.”
“I'll have to know before noon,” Killen reminded him, flushing with embarrassment.
“If I can arrange to get the money—and I think I can—I'll let you know at eleven. Don't worry, Sam. It will be all right.”
The legislator shook hands again. “I ain't going to forget what you're doing for me. No, sir!”
Jeff laughed his thanks easily. “That's all right. I reckon you would have done as much for me. Sam Killen isn't the man to throw his friends down.”
“That's right,” returned the other with a sudden valiant infusion of courage. “I stand pat. I'm not going to lie down before the Transcontinental. Not on your life, I ain't.”
They were walking toward the outer door as Killen's speech overflowed. “The Transcontinental doesn't own this state yet. No, sir! Nor Frome and Merrill either. We'll show 'em—”
The valor of the big voice collapsed like a rent balloon. For the office door had opened to let in Big Tim O'Brien. His shrewd eyes passed with whimsical disgust over Killen and rested on Farnum.
The situation made for amusement, since Jeff knew that Big Tim had heard over the transom enough to show that Killen's vote had been recaptured for Hardy.