Monohan has, too. But he has always hated Jack Fyfe.
To my knowledge for three years,--prior to pulling you out of the water
that time,--he never spoke of Jack Fyfe without a sneer. He hates any
one who beats him at anything. That ruction on the Tyee is a sample.
He'll spend money, risk lives, all but his own, do anything to satisfy a
grudge. That's one of the things that worries me. Charlie will be into
anything that Fyfe is, for Fyfe's his friend. I admire the spirit of the
thing, but I don't want our little applecart upset in the sort of
struggle Fyfe and Monohan may stage. I don't even know what form it will
ultimately take, except that from certain indications he'll try to make
Fyfe spend money faster than he can make it, perhaps in litigation over
timber, over anything that offers, by making trouble in his camps,
harassing him at every turn. He can, you know. He has immense resources.
Oh, well, I'm satisfied, Stella, that you're a much wiser girl than I
thought when I knew you'd left Jack Fyfe. I'm quite sure now you aren't
the sort of woman Monohan could wind around his little finger. But I'm
sure he'll try. You'll see, and remember what I tell you. There, I think
I'd better run along. You're not angry, are you, Stella?"
"You mean well enough, I suppose," Stella answered. "But as a matter of
fact, you've made me feel rather nasty, Linda. I don't want to talk or
even think of these things. The best thing you and Charlie and Jack Fyfe
could do is to forget such a discontented pendulum as I ever existed.
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