"
"Yes, Tarboe's been some use, hasn't he?" was the suggestive response.
John Grier's eyes hardened. "You might have done it. You had it in you.
The staff of life--courage and daring--were yours, and you wouldn't take
it on. What's the result? I've got a man who's worth two of Fabian and
Belloc. And you"--he held up a piece of paper--"see that," he broke off.
"See that. It's my record. That's what I'm worth. That's what you might
have handled!" He took a cigar from his pocket, cut off the blunt end,
and continued: "You threw your chance aside." He tapped the paper with
the point of the cigar. "That's what Tarboe has helped do. What have you
got to show?" He pointed to the statue. "I won't say it ain't good. It's
a live man from the river. But what do I want with that, when I can have
the original man himself! My boy, the great game of life is to fight
hard, and never to give in. If you keep your eyes open, things'll happen
that'll bring what you want."
He stood up, striking a match to light his cigar. It was dusk, and the
light of the match gave a curious, fantastic glimmer to his powerful,
weird, haggard face. He was like some remnant of a great life, loose in a
careless world.
"I tell you," he said, the smoke leaking from his mouth like a drift of
snow, "the only thing worth doing is making the things that matter in the
commerce and politics of the world.
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