"No, we'll just call the whole business off."
"That is not for me to decide," said Bob.
"No; but you've got a lot to say about it--and I'll see to the little
details; don't fret. By the way," mentioned Baker, "just as a matter of
ordinary curiosity, _did_ Oldham have anything on you, or was he just a
strong-arm artist?" He threw back his head and laughed aloud at Bob's
face. At the thought of Pollock the young man could not prevent a
momentary expression of relief from crossing his countenance. "There's a
tail-holt on all of us," Baker observed.
He flipped open a desk drawer and produced a box of expensive-looking
cigars which he offered to his visitors. Orde lit one; but Bob, eyeing
the power-man coldly, refused. Baker laughed.
"You'll get over it," he observed--"youth, I mean. Don't mix your
business and your personal affairs. That came right out of the copy
book, page one, but it's true. I'm the one that ought to feel sore,
seems to me." He lit his own cigar, and puffed at it, swinging his bulky
form to the edge of the desk. "Look here," said he, shaking the butt at
the younger man.
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