Charles Dana Gibson with words. My talk's a little rough and sketchy, I guess. But here's the outline, plain as I can make it. Two thousand a year from Hayden. Twenty thousand in two seconds if you hand that package to me."
"No," objected Bland. "I've been honest-after a fashion. I can't quite stand for that. I'm working for Hayden."
"Don't be a fool," sneered Max.
"Of course," said the mayor, "I appreciate your scruples, having had a few in my day myself, though you'd never think so to read the Star. But look at it sensible. The money belongs to me. If you was to hand it over you'd be just doing plain justice. What right has Hayden on his side? I did what was agreed—do I get my pay? No. Who are you to defeat the ends of justice this way? That's how you ought to look at it. You give me what's my due—and you put twenty thousand in your pocket by an honest act. Hayden comes. He asks for the bundle. You point to the dynamited safe. You did your best."
"No," said Bland, but his tone was less firm. "I can't go back on Hayden. No—it wouldn t—"
