"You're a civil cuss, Marsh," he said lightly, "but one wouldn't always
know it. Ain't I a client, ain't I a friend,--and damn it all, man,
ain't I a creditor? There are three excuses, any one of which is:
sufficient to bring me into your esteemed presence!"

"We may as well omit the first," growled Langham, wheeling his chair
back from the desk and facing Gilmore.

"Why?" asked Gilmore, lazily tolerant of the other's mood.

"Because there is nothing more that I can do for you," said Langham
shortly.

"Oh, yes there is, Marsh, there's a whole lot more you can do for me.
There's Moxlow, the distinguished prosecuting attorney; without you to
talk sense to him he's liable to listen to all sorts of queer people who
take more interest in my affairs than is good for them; but as long as
he's got you at his elbow he won't forget my little stake in his
election."

"If you wish him not to forget it, you'd better not be so particular in
reminding him of it; he'll get sick of you and your concerns!" retorted
Langham.

Gilmore laughed.

"I ain't going to remind him of it; what have I got you for, Marsh? It's
your job." He took a step nearer Langham while his black brows met in a
sullen frown. "I know I ain't popular here in Mount Hope, I know there