are plenty of people who'd like to see me run out of town; but I'm no
quitter, they'll find. It suits me to stay here, and they can't touch me
if Moxlow won't have it. That's your job, that's what I hire you for,
Marsh; you're Moxlow's partner, you're your father's son, it's up to
you to see I ain't interfered with. Don't tell me you can't do anything
more for me. I won't have it!"

Langham's face was red, and his eyes blazed angrily, but Gilmore met his
glance with a look of stern insistence that could not be misunderstood.

"I have done what I could for you," the lawyer said at last, choking
down his rage.

"Oh, go to hell! You know you haven't hurt yourself," said Gilmore
insolently.

"Well, then, why do you come here?" demanded Langham.

"Same old business, Marsh." He lounged across the room and dropped,
yawning, into a chair near the window.

There was silence between them for a little space. Langham fussed with
the papers on his desk, while Gilmore squinted at him over the end of
his cigar.

"Same old business, Marsh!" Gilmore repeated lazily. "What's the enemy
up to, anyhow? Are the good people of Mount Hope worrying Moxlow? Is
their sleepless activity going to interfere with my sleepless
profession, eh? Can you answer me that?"