I don't need to
say I like you. We were born in the same nest almost. We've got the same
ideas."
"Almost," intervened Tarboe. "Not quite, but almost."
"Well, this is what I've got to say. You've got youth, courage, and good
sense, and business ability, and what more does a man want in life, I ask
you that?" Tarboe nodded, but made no reply.
"Well, I don't feel as strong as I used to do. I've been breaking up this
last year, just when we've been knitting the cracks in the building. What
was in my mind is this--to leave you when I die the whole of my business
to keep it a success, and get in the way of Belloc, and pay my wife so
much a year to live on."
"That wouldn't be fair to your wife or your sons."
"As for Carnac, if I left him the business it'd be dead in two years.
Nothing could save it. He'd spoil it, because he don't care for it. I
bought Fabian out. As for my wife, she couldn't run it, and--"
"You could sell it," interrupted Tarboe.
"Sell it! Sell it!" said Grier wildly. "Sell it to whom?"
"To Belloc," was the malicious reply. The demon of anger seized the old
man.
"You say that to me--you--that I should sell to Belloc! By hell, I'd
rather burn every stick and board and tree I've got--sweep it out of
existence, and die a beggar than sell it to Belloc!" Froth gathered at
the corners of his mouth, there was tumult in his eyes.
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