“Look at that!” he growled wrathfully, handing the paper across the office desk to Caleb.  “One of these fine days I’m going to land that fellow Dyckman in the penitentiary.”

The iron-master put on his spectacles and plodded slowly and conscientiously through the editorial, turning the paper, at length, to glance over the headings on the telegraphic page.  In the middle of it he looked up suddenly to say: 

“Son, what was the name o’ that Indiany town with the big water-pipe contract?”

Tom gave it in a word, and Caleb passed the paper back, with his thumb on one of the press despatches.

“Read that,” he said.

Tom read, and the wrathful scowl evoked by the foolish editorial gave place to a flitting smile of triumph.  There was trouble in the Indiana city over the awarding of the pipe contract.  In some way unknown to the press reporter, it had leaked out that a much lower bid than the one accepted had been ignored by the purchasing committee.  A municipal election was pending, and the people were up in arms.  Rumors of a wholesale indictment of the suspected officials were rife, and the city offices were in a state of siege.

Tom put the paper down and smote on the desk.

“Damn them!” he said; “I thought perhaps I could give them a run for their money.”

“You?” said Caleb, removing his glasses.  “How’s that?”

The new recruit in the army of business chicane nodded his head.

“It was a shot in the dark, and I didn’t want to brag beforehand,” he explained.  “I wrestled it out Saturday night when I was tramping the hills after Doc Williams had brought mother around.  One member of the purchasing committee was ready to dodge; he gave me a pointer before I left Louisville.  I didn’t see anything in it then but revenge; but afterward I saw how we might spend some money to a possible advantage.”

Caleb’s eyes had grown narrow.

“I reckon I’m sort o’ dull, Buddy; what-all did you do?”

“Wired the disgruntled one that there was a letter and a check in the mail for him, to be followed by another and a bigger if his pole proved long enough to reach the persimmons.”

The old iron-master left his chair and began to walk the floor, six steps and a turn.  After a little he said: 

“Tom, is that business?”

“It is the modern definition of it.”

“What’s goin’ to happen up yonder in Indiany?”

“If I knew, I’d be a good bit easier in my mind.  What I’m hoping is that the rumpus will be big enough to make ’em turn the contract our way.”

Caleb stopped short.

“My God!” he ejaculated.  “Where’s your heart, Buddy?  Would you take the chance of sendin’ these fellows to jail for the sake of gettin’ that contract?”

“Cheerfully,” said Tom.  “They’re rascals; I could have bought them if I’d had money enough; and the other fellow did buy them.”