"No, it ain't. She got the truth. And she's so darned grateful," he
added lugubriously, "that I don't know how to square your record with
that face! Unless we can rig up some yarn about a holdup--" He paused
just outside the mess-house door and eyed Ford questioningly. "We
might--"
"No, you don't. If you've gone and lied to her, and made me out a little
tin angel, you deserve what's coming. Anyway, I won't stay long, and
I'll stop down here with the boys. Call me Jack Jones and let it go at
that. Honest, Ches, I don't want to get mixed up with no more females.
I'm plumb scared of 'em. Lordy me, that coffee sure does smell good to
me!"
Mason looked at him doubtfully, saw that Ford was, for the time being,
absolutely devoid of anything remotely approaching penitence for his
sins, or compunction over his appearance, or uneasiness over "Kate's"
opinion of him. He was hungry. And since it is next to impossible to
whip up the conscience of a man whose thoughts are concentrated upon his
physical needs, Mason was wise enough to wait, though the one point
which he considered of vital importance to them both--the question of
Ford's acceptance or refusal of the foremanship of the Double Cross--had
not yet been touched upon.
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