"
Blount turned to his desk, opened it, and began to arrange his papers.
"You've been a good friend, after all, Dick," he said, talking as he
worked. "I'm going to ask you to go one step farther and take charge of
the funeral, if you will. Find Mr. McVickar and wire him that I've
dropped out. I'll write him a resignation from somewhere, when I have
time."
Gantry left his chair and came to stand beside the quitter.
"Honestly, Evan," he said slowly, "I thought you were a grown man.
You'll forgive the mistake, won't you?"
Blount turned upon his tormentor and swore pathetically. "What's the
use--what in the devil is the use?" he rasped, when the outburst began
to grow measurably articulate. "You know as well as I do what's been
done to me, and who has done it. Can I lift my hand to strike back, even
if I had a weapon to strike with?"
"Perhaps you can't. But you owe it to yourself, and to a certain
bright-minded young woman that I know of, not to fly off the handle
without at least trying to see if you can't stay on. Wait a minute." The
railroad man took a turn up and down the floor, head down and hands
behind him. When he came back to the desk end he began again. "Evan,
who's got those original papers?"
"The man who blew up my safe, of course. You've said you didn't hire
him, and that leaves only one alternative.
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