Out of the Primitive Part 15

The blow struck a shower of flinty sparks from Mr. Leslie's narrowed eyes.

"You'll do well to be more conciliatory, young man," he warned.

"Conciliatory? _Bah!_"

"Didn't take you for a fool."

"Well, you won't take me in for one," countered Blake.

"You seem determined to hurt your own interests. Unfortunately you've put me in your debt--an obligation I must pay in full."

"Why not get a receiver appointed, and reorganize?" gibed Blake.

"That's one of the ways you dodge obligations, isn't it?"

Mr. Leslie's wrinkled face quickly turned red, and from red to purple.

He thrust a quivering finger against a push-b.u.t.ton. Blake grinned exultantly and picked up his hat.

"Don't bother your bouncer," he remarked in a cheerful tone. "I don't need any invitation to leave."

The tall doorkeeper stepped alertly into the room, but turned back on the instant at sight of his master's repellent gesture.

"Mistake," snapped Mr. Leslie, and as the man disappeared, he turned to Blake. "Wait! Don't go yet."

Blake was rising to his feet. He paused, considered, and resumed his seat. Mr. Leslie had regained his normal color and his composure. He put his finger-tips together, and jerked out in his usual incisive tone: "I propose to liquidate this obligation to you without delay.

Would you prefer a cash payment?"

"No." Again Blake set his jaw. "You couldn't settle with me for cash, not even if you overdrew your bank account."

"Nonsense!" snapped Mr. Leslie. He studied the young man's resolute face, and asked impatiently, "Well--what?"

"Can't you get it into your head?" rejoined Blake. "I'm not asking for any pay for what I did."

"What, then? If not a money reward--I see. You're perhaps ambitious.

You want to make a name in your profession."

"Ever know an engineer that didn't?"

"I see. I'll arrange to give you a position that--"

"Thanks," broke in Blake dryly. "Wait till I ask you for a job."

"What are you going to do?--loaf?"

"That's my business."

Mr. Leslie again studied Blake's face. Though accustomed to read men at a glance, he was baffled by the engineer's inscrutable calm.

"You nearly always win at poker," he stated.

"Used to," confirmed Blake. "Cut it out, though. A gambler is a fool.

More fun in a nickel earned than a dollar made at play or speculating."

"So! You're one of these socialist cranks."

Blake laughed outright. "It's the cranks that make the world go 'round!

No; I've been too busy boosting for Number One--like you--to let myself think of the other fellow. The trouble with that crazy outfit is they want to set you to working for the people, instead of working the people. No; I've steered clear of them. 'Fraid I might get infected with altruism. Like you, I'm a born anarchist--excuse me!--individualist. What would become of those who have the big interests of the country at heart if they didn't have the big interests in hand?"

Mr. Leslie ignored the sarcasm. "Either you're a fool, or you're playing a deep game. It occurs to me you may have heard that my daughter has money in her own right."

"Three million, she said," a.s.sented Blake.

"She told you!"

"Guess she told me more than she seems to have told you."

"About what?"

"Ask her."

Mr. Leslie's eyes narrowed to thin slits. "Her aunt wrote me that she suspected you had the effrontery to--aspire to my daughter's hand. I couldn't believe it possible."

"That so?" said Blake with calm indifference.

Mr. Leslie started as though stung. "It's true, then! You--you!--" He choked with rage.

"I thought that would reach you," commented Blake.

"You rascal! you blackguard!" spluttered Mr. Leslie. "So that's your game? You know she's an heiress! Think you have the whip-handle--bleed me or force her to marry you!--Alone with her after the other man--!

You--you scoundrel! you blackguard! I'll--"

"Shut up!" commanded Blake, his voice low-pitched and hoa.r.s.e, his face white to the lips. For the second time during the interview Mr. Leslie cringed before his look. His pale eyes were like b.a.l.l.s of white-hot steel.

Slowly the glare faded from Blake's eyes, and the color returned to his bronzed face. He relaxed his fists.

"G.o.d!" he whispered huskily. "G.o.d! ... But you're her father!"

Something in his tone compelled conviction, despite Mr. Leslie's bitter prejudice. He jerked out reluctantly: "I'm not so sure--perhaps I spoke too--too hastily. But--the indications--"

"Needn't try to apologize," growled Blake.

"I'll not--in words. How about a twenty-five-thousand-dollar position?"

"What?" demanded Blake, astonished.

"That, as a beginning. If you prove yourself the kind of man I think you are,--the kind that can learn to run a railroad system,--I'll push you up the line to a hundred thousand, besides chances to come in on stock deals with George Ashton and myself."

"But if you think I'm a--"

"You're the only man that ever outfaced me in my own office. I'll chance the rest,--though I had your record looked up as soon as your name was cabled to me. I know not only who you are but _what_ you are."