"No blunder! No incompetence! No misreading of my plans! But a
rotten, deliberate deal! ... Work done over and over again! Oh, I
see it all now! General Lodge knew it without ever coming here. The
same old story! That black stain--that dishonor on the great work!
... Graft! Graft!"
He clambered out of the wet and muddy hole and up the bank. Then he
saw Blake sauntering across the flat toward him. Neale sat down
abruptly to hide his face and fury, giving himself the task of
scraping mud from his boots. When Blake got there Neale had himself
fairly well in hand.
"Hello, Neale!" said Blake, suavely. "Collected some mud, I see.
It's sure a dirty job."
"Yes, it's been dirty in more ways than mud, I guess," replied
Neale. The instant his voice sounded in his ears it unleashed his
temper.
"Sure has been a pile of money--dirty government money--sunk in
there," rejoined Blake. He spoke with assurance that surprised Neale
into a desire to see how far he would go.
"Blake, it's an ill wind that blows nobody good."
A moment of silence passed before Blake spoke again. "Sure. And
it'll blow you good, too," he said, breathing hard.
"Every man has his price," replied Neale, lightly.
Then he felt a big, soft roll of bills stuffed into his hand. He
took it, trembling all over.
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