"I believe," he said slowly, "that there
comes a turning-point in every man's life--whatever he's been--when he
either makes good or throws in his hand altogether. I've been through it
myself, and I know what it means. It's Saltash's turn now."
"Oh, rot, Jake!" Bunny turned on him with the old boyish admiration
shining in his eyes. "You--why, you've made good every time--just about
as often as Charlie has done the other thing."
"No." Jake spoke without elation. "I did make good, but I went through
hell first, and I very nearly failed. It may be the same with him. If
so--well, poor devil, he has my sympathy."
"You can't be sorry for a hound like Saltash!" remonstrated Bunny.
Jake turned squarely and faced him. "Well, there you're wrong, Bunny," he
said. "I reckon I'm sorrier for him than I am for you. You've got a clean
record, and you'll win out and marry Sheila Melrose. But Saltash--well,
he's got a damn heavy handicap, and if he pulls off this, it'll be one of
the biggest events I've ever seen. Say, what's the matter?"
Bunny had sprung to his feet. He stood looking at Jake with an expression
half-startled and half-indignant. "Jake--you beast! What made you say
that?" he demanded.
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