You can't trust me. You
can't depend on me, Ches."
"Oh, yes I can," Mason contradicted blandly. "It's just because I can
that I want you."
"You can't. You know damn' well you can't! Why, you--don't you know I've
got the name of being a drunkard, and a--a bad actor all around? I'm not
like I was eight years ago, remember. I've traveled a hard old trail
since we bucked the snow together, Ches--and it's been mostly down
grade. I was all right for awhile, and then I got ten thousand dollars,
and it seemed a lot of money. I bought a fellow out--he had a ranch and
a few head of horses--so he could take his wife back East to her mother.
She was sick. I didn't want the darned ranch. And so help me, Ches,
that's the only thing I've done in the last four years that I hadn't
ought to be ashamed of. The rest of the money I just simply blew.
I--well, you see me; you didn't want to take me up to the house to meet
your wife, and I don't blame you. You'd be a chump if you did. And this
is nothing out of the ordinary. I've got my face bunged up half the
time, seems like." He thumped the pillow into a different position,
settled his head against it, and looked at Mason with his old, whimsical
smile.
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