Their conversation
lasted an hour. When Colonel Grand arose to depart he stood a little
behind and to the left of Braddock's chair, a soft, sardonic smile on
his lips. He held a sheet of paper in his hand. Pen and ink on the
table, alongside the more sinister bottle, told of an act of
penmanship.
"We'll have the night clerk and some one else witness the signatures,"
he said quietly.
"All right," said Braddock hoarsely. He was staring at his fingers,
which he twiddled in a nerveless, irresolute manner.
"The inside conditions are between you and me personally. You'll have
to live up to them, Braddock."
"Oh, I'm a man of my word, don't fret."
"You are to get out at the end of the week. That's plain, is it?"
"If the cash is passed over. Don't forget that. Say, Bob, I swear,
you're treating me dirt mean. I ought to have five times more than you
are payin' me, and you know it. Five thousand dollars! Why, it's
givin' the show away, that's what it is. I've built up this here
show--"
"It is your own proposition. I didn't suggest buying you out. You came
to me to sell. If you don't want to let it go at the price we've
agreed on I'll tear up this bill of sale.
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