“Speak out, man!” he cried. “What are you leading up to?”
“Just this,” answered the Honourable Hilary; “that the Gaylord Lumber Company are going to bring suit under that section.”
Mr. Flint rose, thrust his hands in his pockets, and paced the room twice.
“Have they got a case?” he demanded.
“It looks a little that way tome,” said Mr. Vane. “I'm not prepared to give a definite opinion as yet.”
Mr. Flint measured the room twice again.
“Did that old fool Hammer stumble on to this?”
“Hammer's sick,” said Mr. Vane; “they say he's got Bright's disease. My son discovered that section.”
There was a certain ring of pride in the Honourable Hilary's voice, and a lifting of the head as he pronounced the words “my son,” which did not escape Mr. Flint. The railroad president walked slowly to the arm of the chair in which his chief counsel was seated, and stood looking down at him. But the Honourable Hilary appeared unconscious of what was impending.
“Your son!” exclaimed Mr. Flint. “So your son, the son of the man who has been my legal adviser and confidant and friend for thirty years, is going to join the Crewel and Tootings in their assaults on established decency and order! He's out for cheap political preferment, too, is he? By thunder! I thought that he had some such thing in his mind when he came in here and threw his pass in my face and took that Meader suit. I don't mind telling you that he's the man I've been afraid of all along. He's got a head on him—I saw that at the start. I trusted to you to control him, and this is how you do it.”