"He has made the little mistake
of speaking to me as if he did; and when"--March put on his hat and took
his overcoat down from its nail--"when you bring me his apologies, or
come to say that, having failed to make him understand they were
necessary, you are prepared to stand by me, I will come back to this
desk. Otherwise my resignation is at your service."
He started toward the door, and Fulkerson intercepted him. "Ah, now, look
here, March! Don't do that! Hang it all, don't you see where it leaves
me? Now, you just sit down a minute and talk it over. I can make you
see--I can show you--Why, confound the old Dutch beer-buzzer! Twenty of
him wouldn't be worth the trouble he's makin'. Let him go, and the old
man 'll come round in time."
"I don't think we've understood each other exactly, Mr. Fulkerson," said
March, very haughtily. "Perhaps we never can; but I'll leave you to think
it out."
He pushed on, and Fulkerson stood aside to let him pass, with a dazed
look and a mechanical movement. There was something comic in his rueful
bewilderment to March, who was tempted to smile, but he said to himself
that he had as much reason to be unhappy as Fulkerson, and he did not
smile. His indignation kept him hot in his purpose to suffer any
consequence rather than submit to the dictation of a man like Dryfoos; he
felt keenly the degradation of his connection with him, and all his
resentment of Fulkerson's original uncandor returned; at the same time
his heart ached with foreboding.
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