Business is business."
"Hell! Any one would think, to hear you talk, that I had threatened to
betray."
"Every man to his own skin," replied McQuade philosophically. He then
sat down before the typewriter. There were two blank sheets in the
roller, with a carbon between. The girl had left her machine all ready
for the morrow's work. McQuade picked out his sentence laboriously.
"There, sign that."
The paper read:
"I, James Morrissy, the undersigned, do hereby declare that I have
received $1,000, in two sums of $500 each, from Daniel McQuade, these
sums being payment agreed upon for my bringing about the strike at the
Bennington shops."
Morrissy looked at the boss incredulously.
"I say, Mac, have you gone crazy?" he cried. "Do you want evidence
like this lying around in your safe? It's the penitentiary for both of
us if any one finds that."
"I know what I am doing," McQuade responded quietly, as indeed he did.
"But look; you've got the strike and I've got the cash; that makes us
quits."
"Sign it," was all McQuade replied to this argument.
"All right. What's bad for me is bad for you," and without further ado
Morrissy affixed his fist to the sheet.
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