Part 16 (1/2)

Blake bent forward, frowning. ”I've stood about enough of this.”

”Wait,” said Mr. Leslie. ”I'm not going to drag that in. I mention it only that you will understand without argument why my offer is based on the condition that you at once and for all time give over your ridiculous idea of becoming my son-in-law.”

”You--mean--that--?”

”That I'd rather see my daughter in her grave than married to you. Is that plain enough? You're a good engineer--when you're not a _drunkard_.”

For a moment Blake sat tense and silent. Then he replied steadily: ”I haven't touched a drop of drink since that steamer piled up on that coral reef.”

”Three months, at the outside,” rejoined Mr. Leslie. ”You've been known to go half a year. But always--”

”Yes, always before this try,” said Blake. ”It's different, though, now, with the backing of two such--ladies!”

”Two?” queried Mr. Leslie sharply.

”One's dead,” replied Blake with simple gravity.

”H'm. I--it's possible I've misjudged you in some things. But this question of drink--I'll risk backing you in a business way, if it costs me a million. I owe you that much. But I won't risk my daughter's happiness--supposing you had so much as a shadow of a chance of winning her. No! You saved her life. You shall have no chance whatever to make her miserable. But I'll give you opportunities--I'll put you on the road to making your own millions.”

Blake raised his cigar and flecked off the ash. ”_That_ for your d.a.m.ned millions!” he swore.

Mr. Leslie stared and muttered to himself: ”Might have known it! Man of that kind. Crazy fool!”

”Fool?” repeated Blake contemptuously. ”Just because money is _your_ G.o.d, you needn't think it's everybody else's. You--money--hog! You think I'd sell out my chance of winning _her!_”

”You have no chance, sir! The thought of such a thing is absurd--ridiculous!”

”Well, then, why don't you laugh? No; you hear me. If I knew I didn't have one chance in a million, I'd tell you to take your offer and--”

”Now, now! make no rash statements. I'm offering you, to begin with, a twenty-five-thousand-dollar position, and your chance to acquire a fortune, if you--”

Blake's smouldering anger flared out in white heat. ”Think you can bribe me, do you? Well, you can just take your positions and your dollars, and go clean, plumb to h.e.l.l!”

”That will do, sir!--that will do!” gasped Mr. Leslie, shocked almost beyond speech.

”No, it won't do, Mr. H. V. Leslie!” retorted Blake. ”I'm not one of your employees, to throw a fit when you put on the heavy pedal, and I'm not one of the lickspittles that are always _baa-ing_ around the Golden Calf. You've had your say. Now I'll have mine. To begin with, let me tell you, I don't need your positions or your money. Griffith has given me work. I'm working for him, not you. Understand?”

”You are? He's my consulting engineer.”

”That cuts no ice. I'm doing some work for him--for _him_; understand?

It's not for you. He gave me the job--not you. After what you've said to me here, I wouldn't take a _hundred_-thousand-dollar job from you, not if I was walking around on my uppers. Understand?”

”But--but-”

Blake's anger burst out in volcanic rage. ”That's it, straight! I don't want your jobs or your money. They're dirty! You've looked up my record, have you? How about your own? How about the Michamac Bridge?

Griffith says the Coville Company has taken it over; but you started it--you called for plans--you advertised a compet.i.tion. Where are my plans?--you!”