"Sampson, I won't stand this
man's impudence."
"Aw, Wright, cut that talk. I'm not impudent. Sampson knows I'm a good
fellow, on the square, and I have you sized up about O.K."
"All the same, Russ, you'd better dig out," said Sampson. "Don't kick up
any fuss. We're busy with deals to-day. And I expect visitors."
"Sure. I won't stay around where I ain't wanted," I replied. Then I lit
my cigarette and did not move an inch out of my tracks.
Sampson sat in a chair near the door; the table upon which lay his gun
stood between him and Wright. This position did not invite me to start
anything. But the tension had begun to be felt. Sampson had his sharp
gaze on me. "What'd you come for, anyway?" he asked suddenly.
"Well, I had some news I was asked to fetch in."
"Get it out of you then."
"See here now, Mr. Sampson, the fact is I'm a tender-hearted fellow. I
hate to hurt people's feelin's. And if I was to spring this news in Mr.
Wright's hearin', why, such a sensitive, high-tempered gentleman as he
would go plumb off his nut." Unconcealed sarcasm was the dominant note
in that speech. Wright flared up, yet he was eagerly curious. Sampson,
probably, thought I was only a little worse for drink, and but for the
way I rubbed Wright he would not have tolerated me at all.
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