I'll write you a check." He took out a check-book, and began to unscrew his fountain-pen. "Every man has his price, of course; but I know you won't rob me, Mr. Jarrod. You'll be reasonable, because I'm an old man and can't afford to"
A door slammed and he looked up startled. The porch was empty save for his own astonished person, and after waiting five or ten minutes for the lawyer to return Easton slowly slid his check-book into his pocket and tottered home with feeble, uncertain steps.
After that interview Jarrod seemed different, even to his friends. His jaw was set and his eyes had a steely gleam in them that boded no good to any who might interfere with his purposes. Never before, even in those wild days when he strove to control the Crosbys, had he felt so humiliated and humbled in his own estimation, and his one desire was to have done
