"
Tarboe shook his head. "Haven't had a sick day for eight years; I'm as
hard as nails; I'm as strong as steel. I love this wild world of the
woods and fields and--"
"And the shebangs and grog-shops and the dirty, drunken villages?"
interrupted the old man.
"No, they don't count. I take them in, but they don't count."
"Didn't you have hard times when you first came?" asked John Grier. "Did
you get right with the men from the start?"
"A little bit of care is a good thing in any life. I told them good
stories, and they liked that. I used to make the stories up, and they
liked that also. When I added some swear words they liked them all the
better. I learned how to do it."
"Yes, I've heard of you, but not as Tarboe."
"You heard of me as Renton, eh?"
"Yes, as Renton. I wonder I never came across you till to-day."
"I kept out of your way; that was the reason. When you came north, I got
farther into the backwoods."
"Are you absolutely straight, Tarboe?" asked John Grier eagerly. "Do you
do these things in the Garden of Eden way, or can you run a bit crooked
when it's worth while?"
"If I'd ever seen it worth while, I'd say so. I could run a bit crooked
if I was fighting among the big ones, or if we were at war with--Belloc,
eh!" A cloud came into the eyes of Tarboe.
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