“What's the matter?” snapped the mill man.
“I'm laughin' at the things I see, Killen. Man, but you're an easy mar-rk.”
“How?”
“Can't you see they're stringin' youse for a sucker?”
“No, I can't see it. I've made up my mind. I'm going to stand by Hardy.”
“Fine! Now I'll tell youse one thing. We're goin' to elect Frome to-morrow.” O'Brien rose as one who has no time for unprofitable talk. “Your friends have sold youse out. I'm going to call on one of thim right now.”
“I don't believe it.”
“Of course you don't.” Tim's projecting balcony shook with the humor of it. “But you'll be convinced when they take your mill from youse, me boy. It's a frame-up—and you're the goat.”
With which shot he took his departure, too shrewd to attempt any argument. He had left behind him a doubt. That was all he could do just now.
Before Tim was out of the building Killen was gumshoeing after him. He meant to find out whether O'Brien had been lying when he said he was going to call on one of his friends. Fifty yards behind him Killen followed, along Powers Avenue, down Pacific Street, to the Equitable Building. From the pilot of one of the elevators he learned that the big boss had got off at the seventh floor and gone straight into James Farnum's office.