“I don’t believe you!” cried Lapham brutally, but a wild predatory hope made his heart leap so that it seemed to turn over in his breast. “I don’t believe there are any such parties to begin with; and in the next place, I don’t believe they would buy at any such figure; unless—unless you’ve lied to them, as you’ve lied to me. Did you tell them about the G.L. & P.?”
Rogers looked compassionately at him, but he answered, with unvaried dryness, “I did not think that necessary.”
Lapham had expected this answer, and he had expected or intended to break out in furious denunciation of Rogers when he got it; but he only found himself saying, in a sort of baffled gasp, “I wonder what your game is!”
Rogers did not reply categorically, but he answered, with his impartial calm, and as if Lapham had said nothing to indicate that he differed at all with him as to disposing of the property in the way he had suggested: “If we should succeed in selling, I should be able to repay you your loans, and should have a little capital for a scheme that I think of going into.”
“And do you think that I am going to steal these men’s money to help you plunder somebody in a new scheme?” answered Lapham. The sneer was on behalf of virtue, but it was still a sneer.
“I suppose the money would be useful to you too, just now.”
“Why?”
“Because I know that you have been trying to borrow.”
At this proof of wicked omniscience in Rogers, the question whether he had better not regard the affair as a fatality, and yield to his destiny, flashed upon Lapham; but he answered, “I shall want money a great deal worse than I’ve ever wanted it yet, before I go into such rascally business with you. Don’t you know that we might as well knock these parties down on the street, and take the money out of their pockets?”
“They have come on,” answered Rogers, “from Portland to see you. I expected them some weeks ago, but they disappointed me. They arrived on the Circassian last night; they expected to have got in five days ago, but the passage was very stormy.”
“Where are they?” asked Lapham, with helpless irrelevance, and feeling himself somehow drifted from his moorings by Rogers’s shipping intelligence.
“They are at Young’s. I told them we would call upon them after dinner this evening; they dine late.”
“Oh, you did, did you?” asked Lapham, trying to drop another anchor for a fresh clutch on his underlying principles. “Well, now, you go and tell them that I said I wouldn’t come.”
“Their stay is limited,” remarked Rogers. “I mentioned this evening because they were not certain they could remain over another night. But if tomorrow would suit you better—”
“Tell ’em I shan’t come at all,” roared Lapham, as much in terror as defiance, for he felt his anchor dragging. “Tell ’em I shan’t come at all! Do you understand that?”
“I don’t see why you should stickle as to the matter of going to them,” said Rogers; “but if you think it will be better to have them approach you, I suppose I can bring them to you.”
“No, you can’t! I shan’t let you! I shan’t see them! I shan’t have anything to do with them. Now do you understand?”
“I inferred from our last interview,” persisted Rogers, unmoved by all this violent demonstration of Lapham’s, “that you wished to meet these parties. You told me that you would give me time to produce them; and I have promised them that you would meet them; I have committed myself.”
It was true that Lapham had defied Rogers to bring on his men, and had implied his willingness to negotiate with them. That was before he had talked the matter over with his wife, and perceived his moral responsibility in it; even she had not seen this at once. He could not enter into this explanation with Rogers; he could only say, “I said I’d give you twenty-four hours to prove yourself a liar, and you did it. I didn’t say twenty-four days.”
“I don’t see the difference,” returned Rogers. “The parties are here now, and that proves that I was acting in good faith at the time. There has been no change in the posture of affairs. You don’t know now any more than you knew then that the G.L. & P. is going to want the property. If there’s any difference, it’s in favour of the Road’s having changed its mind.”
There was some sense in this, and Lapham felt it—felt it only too eagerly, as he recognised the next instant.
Rogers went on quietly: “You’re not obliged to sell to these parties when you meet them; but you’ve allowed me to commit myself to them by the promise that you would talk with them.”
“ ’Twan’t a promise,” said Lapham.
“It was the same thing; they have come out from England on my guaranty that there was such and such an opening for their capital; and now what am I to say to them? It places me in a ridiculous position.” Rogers urged his grievance calmly, almost impersonally, making his appeal to Lapham’s sense of justice. “I can’t go back to those parties and tell them you won’t see them. It’s no answer to make. They’ve got a right to know why you won’t see them.”
“Very well, then!” cried Lapham; “I’ll come and tell them why. Who shall I ask for? When shall I be there?”
“At eight o’clock, please,” said Rogers, rising, without apparent alarm at his threat, if it was a threat. “And ask for me; I’ve taken a room at the hotel for the present.”
“I won’t keep you five minutes when I get there,” said Lapham; but he did not come
