"That'll come out when th' boards of review meet."
"And maybe it'll come out sooner!" There was a snap to the old editor's voice; he moved a step nearer the faces which had slowly formed in a group before him. The attitudes of lounging had given way to a tensity—like the tensity of his own manner. "I want to know who's going to pay the bill."
Some one coughed. Henry Wales sniffed and eyed his cigar.
"That's all fixed, Hump," Hubbard said. "There won't be any hardship for anybody that ain't got it comin'."
"Let's understand one another, gentlemen. Let's get down to brass tacks. I understand that the valuation on Foraker's Folly is to be raised until the sum realized will pay interest and create sinking funds for all these bonds."
Sim Burns snapped: "No more 'n fair! No more 'n legal; I've only followed the law in makin' my assessment."
The editor's blue eye whipped to him. "Only followed what law?"
"State tax law," color mounting, lower lip drooping. "You stood by Foraker; you stood by his girl. You believed they could grow timber out there an' they have. Now do you want to stand between 'em an' th' bill for that privilege? Want to be a party to defrauding the people of this county out of their just tax income?"
There was menace in him as he stepped forward, fists half clenched. Others glanced at him as though his challenge gave them assurance.
"You, Burns, and all of you know my attitude on the matter of taxing timber. There's no need of discussing that. I'm here to discuss a matter of justice."
