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"We have no right to judge him, Mr. Landover." "Are you defending him?" "I don't believe he had the faintest notion that he was being theatrical, as you call it. I am sure he did it because he was moved by an overpowering desire to make all of us happy. He couldn't bear the thought of that evil thing out there, pointing at us while we worshipped and tried to sing with gladness in our hearts. No!
Right on the nose, too, if I'm any judge. What do you suppose it was, Bill?" "Bill" nodded his head very earnestly. "That's what I think," said "Soapy," fixing his hearer with a moody, speculative frown. "Now, I know something about this Landover guy that she don't know. I suppose A. A. will give me an awful panning if I up and tell her what I saw that day. He seems to think it's a secret."
Landover, "turned out to be the damnedest rascal I've ever encountered." "How did you happen to have him in the bank if you are such a good judge of men?" inquired Mr. Fitts, utterly without malice. Mr. Landover reddened. "My dear sir, I do not come in contact with every employe of the bank. You forget that it is quite an immense institution." "It sure is," said Mr. Nicklestick.
Landover maintains that Captain Trigger and all the other officers are like putty in the hands of Mr. Percival. I am beginning to believe it myself. He he has got them all hypnotized." "He hasn't got me hypnotized!" exclaimed Mrs. Spofford. "In any case, he is in the saddle," sighed Ruth. "He deliberately tried to kill Mr. Landover," said the other. "Is nothing to be done about it?
Each of these checks bore the signature of Abel T. Landover and a seal devised by Peter Snipe, who besides being an author was something of a draughtsman, indeed, his enemies said he was a far better artist than he was an author, which annoyed him tremendously in view of the fact that he had stopped drawing when he was fifteen because eminent cartoonists and illustrators had told him he had no talent at all.
On the other hand, he hated Percival as an individual; he hated him with every drop of blood in his black, venomous heart. He had a certain grudging regard, it might even be called respect, for the class to which Landover belonged; he was sometimes conscious of a strange but quite positive sense of his own inferiority. But he did not for an instant put Percival in the class with Landover.
Landover stood in the centre of the luxurious cabin, a revolver in his hand. "I mean exactly what I say, Percival. I will shoot the instant you put a foot through that door." "I don't believe you would," said Percival, "but, just the same, I'm not going to chance it. If I ever conclude to commit suicide, I'll go off somewhere and blow my brains out with my own gun.
It inspired the philanthropic motives that led him to share his very excellent cigars with the doughty foreman. Moreover, he had something far back in his mind, had Mr. Abel Landover. Percival was indefatigable. He set the example for every one else, and nothing daunted him.
But, as I was saying, our little old Olga has got her Say, did you ever see a figger like that?" "Yes," broke in Landover shortly, "thousands of them." Mr. Shine looked sceptical. "Well," he said after a moment's reflection, and with studied politeness, having already offended at the outset, "all I got to say is, you talk like a woman, that's all I got to say."
The cheering awoke Abel Landover from a sound sleep. He turned in his bunk and growled: "The damned idiots!" Mr. Landover did not like children. He declined to sit up half the night to find out "how things were going."
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