"
Rodney flushed angrily.
"What has that got to do with me?" he demanded.
"I don't know. I don't want to know. I simply wanted to tell you
that there are a good many of us who take a peculiar pride in
Clayton Spencer, and who resent anything that reflects on a name we
respect rather highly."
"That sounds like a threat."
"Not at all. I was merely calling your attention to something I
thought perhaps you had forgotten." Then he got up' and his tone
changed, became brisk, almost friendly. "Now, about this building
thing. If you're in earnest I think it can be managed. You won't
get any money to speak of, you know."
"I don't want any money," sullenly.
"Fine. You'll probably have to go west somewhere, and you'll be
set down in the center of a hundred corn-fields and told to make
them overnight into a temporary town. I suppose you've thought of
all that?"
"I'll go wherever I'm sent."
"Come along to the telephone, then."
Rodney hesitated. He felt cheap and despicable, and his anger was
still hot.
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