He laughed. His laugh was as mirthless as the cackle of a guinea hen.
"But I 'm going to die hard, believe me! And if I go down, if they
think they can throw me on that, I 'm going to take a few of my friends
along with me."

"Is that a threat?" was the woman's quick inquiry. Her eyes narrowed
again, for she had long since learned, and learned it to her sorrow,
that every breath he drew was a breath of self-interest.

"No; it's just a plain statement." He slewed about in his swivel
chair, throwing one thick leg over the other as he did so. "I hate to
holler Auburn at a girl like you, Elsie; but I 'm going--"

"Auburn?" she repeated very quietly. Then she raised her eyes to his.
"Can you say a thing like that to me, Jim?"

He shifted a little in his chair. But he met her gaze without a wince.

"This is business, Elsie, and you can't mix business and--and other
things," he tailed off at last, dropping his eyes.

"I 'm sorry you put it that way," she said. "I hoped we 'd be better
friends than that!"

"I'm not counting on friendship in this!" he retorted.

"But it might have been better, even in this!" she said. And the
artful look of pity on her face angered him.