Part 8 (1/2)

”Youse guessed my name,” said Foley, cooly helping himself to a chair.

”What's doin'?”

The two men watched each other narrowly, as might two enemies who have established a truce, yet who suspect treachery on the part of the other.

There was a distant superiority in the manner of Mr. Baxter,--and also the hardly concealed strain of the man who, from policy or breeding, would be polite where he loathes. Foley, tilted back in his chair, matched this manner with an air of defiant self-a.s.sertion.

Mr. Baxter rapidly sketched the outline of what Tom had said to him.

”And so Keating come to youse for help,” grinned Foley. ”That ain't bad!”

Mr. Baxter did not recognize Foley's equality by smiling. ”I thought it to your interest to let you know this at once, for----”

”And to your interest, too.”

”I knew you were not particularly desirous of having Mr. Keating elected,” he continued.

”I'm just about as anxious as youse are,” said Foley promptly. ”Anyhow,”

he added carelessly, ”I already knew what youse told me.” Which he did not.

”Then my sending for you and telling you has served no purpose.” The coldness of his voice placed a wide distance between himself and the walking delegate.

Foley perceived the distance, and took a vindictive pleasure in bridging it with easy familiarity. ”Not at all, Baxter. It gives youse a chance to show how much youse like me, an' how much youse've got the interest o' the union at heart.”

The lean, sarcastic face nettled Mr. Baxter. ”I think my reputation speaks for my interest in the union,” he said stiffly.

”Your interest in the union!” Foley laughed.

No man had ever seen Mr. Baxter lose his self-control; but he was as near losing it now as he had ever been, else he would not have made so weak a rejoinder.

”My reputation speaks for my interest,” he repeated. ”You won't find a man in your union but that'll say I'm the union's friend.”

Foley laughed again--a harsh, biting laugh. ”An' why do they say it, eh?

Because I told 'em so. An' youse've got the nerve, Baxter, to sit there an' talk that rot to me!--me, the man that made youse!”

”Made me!”

Foley's heart leaped to see the wrathful color flame in the white cheek of the suave and collected Mr. Baxter--to see the white shapely hands twitch.

”Yes, made youse!” And he went on with his grim pleasure. ”Youse're doin' twice the business youse were three years ago. Why did youse get the contracts for the Atwell building and the Sewanee Hotel--the two jobs that put youse at the head o' things in New York? Because Driscoll, Bobbs, an' some o' the others had failed to get the jobs they were workin' on done in contract time. An' why didn't they get done on time?

Because youse didn't want 'em to get through on time. I saw that they got b.u.m men, who made mistakes,--an' I give 'em their bellyful o'

strikes.”

”You didn't do these things out of love for me,” Mr. Baxter put in meaningly. He was getting himself in hand again.

”Sure, I didn't,--not any more'n youse told me about Keating for love o'

me.”