Why, damn it, there ain't a man I know that
wouldn't give you the laugh if they knew the offer you've made me! They
would, that's a fact. They'd laugh at you. You're all right, Ches, but I
won't stand for a deal like that. I can't make good."
Mason waited until he was through. Then he came closer and put both
hands on Ford's shoulders, so that they stood face to face, and he
looked straight into Ford's discolored eyes with his own shining a
little behind their encircling wrinkles.
"You can make good!" he said calmly. "I know it. All you need is a
chance to pull up. Seeing you won't give yourself one, I'm giving it to
you. You'll do for me what you won't do for yourself, Ford--and if
there's a yellow streak in you, I never got a glimpse of it; and the
yellow will sure come to the surface of a man when he's bucking a
proposition like you and me bucked for two months. You didn't lay down
on that job, and you were just a kid, you might say. Gosh, Ford, I'd
bank on you any old time--put you on your mettle, and I would! You can
make good here--and damn it, you will!"
"I wish I was as sure of that as you seem to be," Ford muttered
uneasily, and turned away.
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