I know you can do it," he
gave way in a plea that was almost a whimper. "Look here! You see if you
can't. I'll make it all right with you. I'll pay you whatever you think
is right--whatever you say."
"Oh!" said Burnamy, in otherwise unutterable disgust.
"You kin," Stoller went on, breaking down more and more into his adopted
Hoosier, in the stress of his anxiety. "I know you kin, Mr. Burnamy." He
pushed the paper containing his letter into Burnamy's hands, and pointed
out a succession of marked passages. "There! And here! And this place!
Don't you see how you could make out that it meant something else, or was
just ironical?" He went on to prove how the text might be given the
complexion he wished, and Burnamy saw that he had really thought it not
impossibly out. "I can't put it in writing as well as you; but I've done
all the work, and all you've got to do is to give it some of them turns
of yours. I'll cable the fellows in our office to say I've been
misrepresented, and that my correction is coming. We'll get it into shape
here together, and then I'll cable that. I don't care for the money. And
I'll get our counting-room to see this scoundrel"--he picked up the paper
that had had fun with him--"and fix him all right, so that he'll ask for
a suspension of public opinion, and--You see, don't you?"
The thing did appeal to Burnamy.
Pages:
1274
1275
1276
1277
1278
1279
1280
1281
1282
1283
1284
1285
1286
1287
1288
1289
1290
1291
1292
1293
1294
1295
1296
1297
1298