“Hello, Neale!” said Blake, suavely. “Collected some mud, I see. It’s sure a dirty job.”
“Yes, it’s been dirty in more ways than mud, I guess,” replied Neale. The instant his voice sounded in his ears it unleashed his temper.
“Sure has been a pile of money—dirty government money—sunk in there,” rejoined Blake. He spoke with assurance that surprised Neale into a desire to see how far he would go.
“Blake, it’s an ill wind that blows nobody good.”
A moment of silence passed before Blake spoke again. “Sure. And it’ll blow you good, too,” he said, breathing hard.
“Every man has his price,” replied Neale, lightly.
Then he felt a big, soft roll of bills stuffed into his hand. He took it, trembling all over. He wanted to spring erect, to fling that bribe in its giver’s face. But he could, control himself a moment longer.
“Blake, who’s the contractor on this job?” he queried, rapidly.
“Don’t you know?”
“I don’t.”