It was a temporizing reply, and Frye so construed it at once.
"I must insist, if you accept my offer," he said, "that you give me your promise to do your best to earn the money. It doesn't pay to be too squeamish in this world," he continued, in a soothing tone; "all business is to a certain extent a game of extortion--a question of do the other fellow or he will do you." Then arising, and holding out a skinny hand to grasp Page's, as if to bind the bargain, he added: "I shall expect you to keep faith with me, Mr. Page," and the interview ended.
When Albert entered the dining-room at his boarding-place that night he felt as if his face must show guilt, and when later he met Frank at the club that feeling increased. He was preoccupied and morose, and Frank, noticing his frame of mind, tried to cheer him.
"You look as if you had been given a facer, old man," he said. "What is the matter? Has Frye been calling you down for something?"
Page looked at his friend a moment, and the impulse to make a clean breast of it, and relieve his feelings, was strong, but he did not.
"I do not like Frye," he said instead, "and the more I see of him the less I like him. At times he makes me feel as if he was a snake ready to uncoil and strike. Did you ever notice his eyes, and the way he has of rubbing his hands when talking?"
"I have," was the answer, "and he has the most hideous eyes I ever saw in a human being. They look like a cat's in the dark. Dad told me once he saw Frye look at a witness he was cross-examining in such a way that the poor fellow forgot what his name was, and swore black was white. Those eyes are vicious weapons, they say, and he uses them to the utmost when he wants to scare a witness."
"They make me feel creepy every time I look at them," said Albert, and then, as if anxious to change the subject, he added, "Let's leave here, Frank, and you come with me to my room, where we can have a quiet talk together. I am in the dumps to-night, and want to unbosom my troubles to you."
"What ails you, old man?" asked Frank, after they were seated in Albert's room and were smoking fraternal pipes; "you look as if you had lost your best friend."
"I did, last June, as you know," was the rather sad answer, "and on top of that, I hate myself for one or two things; for instance, the escapade we indulged in the other night, and being Frye's slave, for another."