“All right, Iredell,” returned McRae, after he had scanned the paper carefully and stowed it away in his pocket. “I’ll accept this, and I won’t say anything more about that play, because I know how sore you’re feeling and I don’t want to rub it in. I’ll admit that at the time it happened, I saw red. But what’s past is past, and there’s no use crying about spilled milk.”