When I'm through with him you may kick
him out. There won't be much left to kick."
For a long time after the departure of his new partner, Thomas
Braddock's attitude of extreme thoughtfulness puzzled those who took
the trouble to observe him. At last, when his cigar was chewed to a
pulp and the night's performance was half over, light broke in upon
him. He fancied that he had solved the Colonel's designs regarding
David Jenison. His face cleared, but again clouded ominously; he
conversed with himself, aloud.
"By thunder, if he thinks I'm going to let him gobble up that kid's
money, he's mistaken. Why didn't I think of this before? I might have
known. It's the long green he's after. I wonder who told him about the
two thousand." He scratched his head in sudden perplexity. "I wonder
what's got into Dick Cronk. He's too blamed good, all of a sudden.
That brother of his might try the job, but--no, he'd bungle it.
Besides, he'd probably stick a knife into Davy if the kid made a
motion." He began chewing a fresh cigar; his pop-eyes were leveled
with unseeing fierceness at a certain patch in the "main top"; his
brain was seeing nothing but that packet of banknotes.
Pages:
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234