"If I was fighting Belloc, and
he used a weapon to flay me from behind, I'd never turn my back on him!"
A grim smile came into Tarboe's face. His jaw set almost viciously, his
eyes hardened. "You people don't play your game very well, Mr. Grier.
I've seen a lot that wants changing."
"Why don't you change it, then?"
Tarboe laughed. "If I was boss like you, I'd change it, but I'm not, and
I stick to my own job."
The old man came close to him, and steadily explored his face and eyes.
"I've never met anybody like you before. You're the man can do things and
won't do them."
"I didn't say that. I said what I meant--that good health is better than
everything else in the world, and when you've got it, you should keep it,
if you can. I'm going to keep mine."
"Well, keep it in Montreal," said John Grier. "There's a lot doing there
worth while. Is fighting worth anything to one that's got aught in him?
There's war for the big things. I believe in war." He waved a hand.
"What's the difference between the kind of thing you've done to-day, and
doing it with the Belloc gang--with the Folson gang--with the Longville
gang--and all the rest? It's the same thing. I was like you when I was
young.
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