“There’s a ticket for New York in my pocket and my clothes are packed.”
O’Rory raised a hand and smoothed his sleek white hair. “You came here from New York, didn’t you?”
“I never told anybody where I came from.”
O’Rory took his hand from his hair and made a small gesture of protestation. “You don’t think I’m one to give a damn where any man comes from, do you?” he asked.
Ned Beaumont did not say anything.
The white-haired man said: “But I do care about where you go and if I have my way as much as I’d like you won’t be going off to New York yet awhile. Did you never happen to think that maybe you could still do yourself a lot of good right here?”
“No,” Ned Beaumont said, “that is, not till Whisky came.”
“And what do you think now?”
“I don’t know anything about it. I’m waiting to hear what you’ve got to say.”
O’Rory put his hand to his hair again. His blue-grey eyes were friendly and shrewd. He asked: “How long have you been here?”
“Fifteen months.”
“And you and Paul have been close as a couple of fingers how long?”
“Year.”
O’Rory nodded. “And you ought to know a lot of things about him,” he said.
“I do.”
O’Rory said: “You ought to know a lot of things I could use.” Ned Beaumont said evenly: “Make your proposition.” O’Rory got up from the depths of his chair and went to a door opposite the one through which Ned Beaumont had come. When he opened the door a huge English bulldog waddled in. O’Rory went back to his chair. The dog lay on the rug in front of the wine and gold chair staring with morose eyes up at its master.
O’Rory said: “One thing I can offer you is a chance to pay Paul back plenty.”
Ned Beaumont said: “That’s nothing to me.”
“it is not?”
“Far as I’m concerned we’re quits.”
O’Rory raised his head. He asked softly: “And you wouldn’t want to do anything to hurt him?”
“I didn’t say that,” Ned Beaumont replied a bit irritably. “I don’t mind hurting him, but I can do it any time I want to on my own account and I don’t want you to think you’re giving me anything when you give me a chance to.”
O’Rory wagged his head up and down, pleasantly. “Suits me,” he said, “so he’s hurt. Why did he bump off young Henry?”
Ned Beaumont laughed. “Take it easy,” he said. “You haven’t made your proposition yet. That’s a nice pooch. How old is he?”
“Just about the limit, seven.” O’Rory put out a foot and rubbed the dog’s nose with the tip of it. The dog moved its tail sluggishly. “How’ does this hit you? After election I’ll stake you to the finest gambling-house this state’s ever seen and let you run it to suit yourself with all the protection you ever heard of.”
“That’s an if offer,” Ned Beaumont said in a somewhat bored manner, “if you win. Anyhow, I’m not sure I want to stay here after election, or even that long.”
O’Rory stopped rubbing the dog’s nose with his shoe-tip. He looked up at Ned Beaumont again, smiled dreamily, and asked: “Don’t you think we’re going to win the election?”
Ned Beaumont smiled. “You won’t bet even money on it.”
O’Rory, still smiling dreamily, asked another question: “You’re not so God-damned hot for putting in with me, are you, Beaumont?”
“No.” Ned Beaumont rose and picked up his hat. “It wasn’t any idea of mine.” His voice was casual, his face politely expressionless. “I told Whisky it’d just be wasting time.” He reached for his overcoat.
The white-haired man said: “Sit down. We can still talk, can’t we? And maybe we’ll get somewhere before we’re through.”
Ned Beaumont hesitated, moved his shoulders slightly, took off his hat, put it and his overcoat on the sofa, and sat down beside them.
O’Rory said: “I’ll give you ten grand in cash right now if you’ll come in and ten more election-night if we beat Paul and I’ll keep that house-offer open for you to take or leave.”