Plank looked at him.
"I told you once that I'd let you know when to step up and say 'Good evening' didn't I?"
Plank continued to stare.
"Didn't I?" repeated Mortimer peevishly, beginning to lose countenance.
"I don't understand you," said Plank, "and I don't think I want to understand you."
"What do you mean?" demanded Mortimer thickly; "don't you want to marry that girl!" but he shrank dismayed under the slow blaze that lighted Plank's blue eyes.
"All right," he stammered, struggling to his fat legs and instinctively backing away; "I thought you meant business. I--what the devil do I care who you marry! It's the last time I try to do anything for you, or for anybody else! Mark that, my friend. I've plenty to worry over; I've a lot to keep me busy without lying awake to figure out how to do kindnesses to old friends. Damn this ingratitude, anyway!"
Plank gazed at him for a moment; the anger in his face had died out.
"I am not ungrateful," he said. "You may say almost anything except that, Leroy. I am not disloyal, no matter what else I may be. But you have made a bad mistake. You made it that day at Black Fells when you offered to interfere. I supposed you understood then that I could never tolerate from anybody anything of such a nature. It appears that you didn't. However, you understand it now. So let us forget the matter."
But Mortimer, keenly appreciative of the pleasures of being misunderstood, squeezed some moisture out of his distended eyes, and sat down, a martyr to his emotions. "To think," he gulped, "that you, of all men, should turn on me like this!"
"I didn't mean to. Can't you understand, Leroy, that you hurt me?"
"Hurt hell!" retorted Mortimer vindictively. "You've had sensation battered out of you by this time. I guess society has landed you a few while I was boosting you over the outworks. Don't play that old con game on me! You tried to get her and you couldn't. Now I come along and offer to put you next and you yell about your hurt feelings! Oh, splash! There's another lady, that's all."
"Let it go at that, then," said Plank, reddening.
"But I tell you--"
"Drop it!" snapped Plank.
"Oh, very well! if you're going to take it that way again--"
"I am. Cut it! And now let me ask you a question: Where were you going when I met you?"
"What do you want to know for?" asked Mortimer sullenly.
"Why, I'll tell you, Leroy. If you have any idea of identifying yourself with Quarrier's people, of seeking him at this juncture with the expectation of investing any money in his schemes, you had better not do so."