"Yes, let me deal with this, if you please," said Benson, looking hard at Burns. The street-car man sneered again, then, in ostentatious contempt, looked out the window. And in the stillness Benson continued:
"Mr. Kittrell, think a minute. Is your decision final?"
"It is final, Mr. Benson," said Kittrell. "And as for you, Burns," he glared angrily at the man, "I wouldn't draw that cartoon for all the dirty money that all the bribing street-car companies in the world could put into Mr. Glenn's bank here. Good evening, gentlemen."
It was not until he stood again in his own home that Kittrell felt the physical effects which the spiritual squalor of such a scene was certain to produce in a nature like his.
"Neil! What is the matter?" Edith fluttered toward him in alarm.
He sank into a chair, and for a moment he looked as if he would faint, but he looked wanly up at her and said:
"Nothing; I'm all right; just a little weak. I've gone through a sickening, horrible scene—"
