"Give and take, I say. I'm willing to do anything I can, if--"

"There won't be any 'ifs'! No conditions whatever."

"Is that so?" Nelson flamed forth, in a momentary explosion of resentment. "If you think I intend to stand the brunt of this, you're crazy. I can't afford to figure in a scandal--banking scandal--like this. I'm a young man. Bell has had his day. He's old. You can hush this up. There are lots of ways to do that. Keep me out of it and--and I'll do what's right by you; I'll do anything you say."

"You'll do that, anyhow," Gray replied, in a voice that grated. He flung himself into his desk chair and, seizing pen and paper, he began to write rapidly, shakily.

"I want to see what I'm signing," Nelson warned. A growl was his answer.

For an interminable time the only sound in the office was the scratching of that pen. When at last it came to an end, Gray rose, thrust the loose sheets into Nelson's hand, then, indicating the vacant chair, said:

"Sign that!"

The wretched recipient of this curt command read the lines carefully.

He read them twice, thrice, for his mind no longer functioned clearly.

He raised a sick face, finally, and shook his head.

"Wouldn't I be a fool?" he queried.

"Listen, you--" Gray's body was shaking, his words were uneven. "I'm sorry for Bell, but not for you. I'll never forget nor forgive what you did to me. Nothing can undo that. Disgrace clings to a man. You're going to get yours, now, and you can't squirm out of it, or lie out of it, no matter how you try, for I sha'n't let you. You're ruined, discredited, blown up, but--I don't think I want to send you to the penitentiary. I'd rather see you walking the streets with dandruff on your collar. I'd rather keep you to look at. Anyhow, you'll have to sign that."

"If you'll guarantee to keep this bank matter quiet--if you'll protect me, I'll sign. Otherwise, you can go to h.e.l.l. We'll beat it out, somehow. We can do it."

Inflexibly Gray a.s.serted: "I'm going to turn you over, whether or no.

But I'll help Bell get the money to repay those loans. He'll probably manage to save himself and--save you, too."

"I won't do it!" Nelson flung down the pen. "Not on those conditions.

You can't bulldoze me. It's your day to crow, but, I warn you, don't push me too far."

Gray voiced an epithet. It was low pitched, but its explosive force, the impelling fury back of it, fairly caused the room to vibrate. He was white of lip, his rage had reached the foaming point.

"Don't make me lay hands on you--choke you into it," he cried, hoa.r.s.ely. "If you do, by G.o.d, I'll finish you!"

Like a man fighting some hypnotic influence stronger than his will, Henry Nelson took up the pen and signed his name waveringly. The next moment Gray smote the door to Briskow's office a heavy blow and, as it flew open, he barked:

"Come in here! All three of you!" He stood aside as Gus, Bennett Swope, and Senator Lowe entered. "Yonder is a statement which I want you to read and witness. When you've done that, I'm going to tell you why Henry Nelson signed it. The rest will be up to you."

It was midafternoon. Swope and Lowe had left the bank. Briskow drew a deep breath and said, with genuine relief: "I'm glad _that's_ over. We can handle the debt between us, an', after all, Old Bell's a pretty good citizen. As for Henry, I s'pose he'll wiggle out of it, somehow. I dunno as I'd of been so easy on him if I'd been in your place."

"I'll tell you why I was easy on him," Gray confessed. "I'm tired of fighting; I'm worn out. I've won my point, and he'll carry the sort of load I've been carrying. But there is this difference: for him there will be no vindication at the end." Taking from his pocket Nelson's statement, he stared at it, then slowly his face lightened. "I was blind mad at first. I felt as if I couldn't keep my hands off him. It was such a dirty trick he did me and so reasonless! He had no excuse whatever for injuring me, Gus. However, I suppose most quarrels sprout from tiny seeds. Well, I'm square with the game! I--I'm afraid, even yet, that it's all a dream. I've wanted to yell--" The speaker chuckled; the chuckle grew to a laugh. "There's magic in this doc.u.ment, Gus, old boy. I've grown young all at once."

"You needn't of took it so hard. Us fellers would have stood by you if you'd turned out to be a horse thief. Texas men are like that."

"You proved it. But that wasn't enough. A man's business a.s.sociates will frequently overlook a lot more than their wives and daughters will overlook. There's a certain loyalty that doesn't apply outside of the office." Gray rose and filled his lungs. "D'you know why I felt this thing so keenly? Why I fought so long? Of course you don't, for I've held out on you. Fact! I've held out on my partner--had a secret from him. Now then, steel yourself for a surprise. I'm suffering from Buddy's complaint, only ten times aggravated!"

"What?" Briskow stared up at the animated countenance above him. "You thinkin' about gettin' _married_?"

"I'm thinking about nothing else. That's what ails me. Why, Gus, you've no idea what a perfectly charming person I can be when--when I can be what I am. I thought I was too old and too blase ever to become seriously interested in a woman, above all in a girl, but--Do you remember when Ma and Allie came to Dallas that first time? Something happened about then to upset all my ideas."

Briskow's sun-parched face slowly lightened, his bright, inquisitive eyes grew bluer, brighter. "I'm--mighty glad! I allus hoped--" He tried to finish his sentence, then shook his head and murmured, huskily, "Mighty glad!"

Here was a marvel, a miracle, for which he had never dared even hope.

He thought of Allie and a lump came into his throat. She had reached the stars. His girl! he would be mighty glad, too--

Gray was speaking, and in his voice was a new, vibrant quality, a new vigor. "Now you'll know why this is the biggest day of my life; why I thought those men would never go. I'm shaking all over, Gus. You'll have to run the bank for a while; I'm too young and irresponsible. I'm going out to buy a hoop and a jumping rope and a pair of roller skates." Again he laughed, boyishly; then, with a slap that knocked the breath from Briskow's lungs, he walked lightly into his own office and seized his hat.

For a long time the father sat at his big, empty desk, staring, smiling into s.p.a.ce. This would make Ma well. Money wasn't altogether a worry, after all; it bought things that nothing else could buy--stars and--and things.

From the expressions upon the faces Gray pa.s.sed in leaving the bank, he realized that his own must wear a grin; but, in spite of his dignified effort to wipe it off, he felt it widening. Well, this was his day to grin; his day to dance and caper. People were too grave, anyhow. They should feel free to vent their joy in living. Why act as if the world were a place of gloom and shadow? Why shouldn't they hop, skip, and jump to and from business, if so inclined? He visualized the streets of the city peopled with pedestrians, old and young, fat and thin, thus engaged, and he laughed aloud. Nevertheless, it was a good idea, and when he became mayor, or perhaps the junior Senator from Texas, he'd advocate public playgrounds for grown-ups. "Bob" would help him put it through. There was a girl who would never grow old. They would grow young together. He caught sight of his reflection in a shop window and slowed down his gait, telling himself that pending the time his new idea was definitely planted it might be well to walk in the old-fashioned manner. Men of substance, bankers, for instance, shouldn't rush through the streets as if going to a fire; they shouldn't dash over crossings and take curbstones as if they were hurdles. It wasn't being done. No reason, however, why a banker shouldn't throw his shoulders back and walk springily upon his toes.

When he beheld the familiar painted sign, "Tom and Bob Parker. Real Estate and Insurance," he paused. The mere sight of the little wooden building, the name, gave him an odd shortness of breath. It was weeks since he had been here.

He realized of a sudden that he had brought nothing with him; no gift, not even flowers. But there was enough to talk about. She'd forget that. What a shower of gifts he would pour upon her--and upon Old Tom, too! Good Old Tom! Tom had wanted to believe. Tom and he would be great pals. They couldn't help being pals with just one thing, between them, to love; one thing in all the world!

It was a disappointment to find the office empty, except for the father himself, but Gray began with a rush, "Well, I told you I'd clear myself, and--here I am, walking on air."

"You did it, eh? That's good news."

"We had a show-down at the bank. Henry Nelson and I locked horns and--But here! Read what he signed. That cleans the slate. He'll do anything further that may be necessary, officially. Where's "Bob"?"

"They're fishin' for a bit in one of your Avenger wells. She's out there."

"So? I'd forgotten."

"Did you see--? Did Buddy have a talk with you? To-day, I mean?"

"Buddy? Oh, Buddy Briskow! I saw him for a moment only. She'll be back soon, I dare say?"

Tom Parker stirred; it was a moment before he spoke, then it was with apparent irrelevance that he said: "I'm sorry you and he didn't have a good talk. 'Bob' asked him to see you--sent him there a-purpose." The sight of Gray's smiling, eager, uncomprehending face caused the old man's steady gaze to waver. He cleared his throat. "Buddy's a fine boy."

"Finest in the world! I claim responsibility for him, in a way. He's part mine." Gray laughed; his eyes sparkled.

"Him and 'Bob' are out there together. They've been together a lot, Mr.

Gray. Both of 'em young, that-away--"

"Of course. I knew you'd both like--" Some quality in Tom's voice, some reluctant evasiveness to his eyes, bore a belated message to the younger man--snapped his chain of thought--dried the words upon his lips. Into his eyes leaped a sudden, strained incredulity. Sharply, he cried, "What do you mean?" Then, after an instant, "Why did he want to see me?" The two men gazed squarely at each other for the first time.

"My G.o.d! Why--that's absurd! I--I brought him here. He's just a _boy_!"

"And she's just a girl, Mr. Gray."

The younger man shrank as if at a blow. He closed his eyes; he raised a shaking hand to his face, which was slowly a.s.suming the color of ashes.

"That's too--rottenly unfair!" he said, faintly. "I brought him here--made a man of him. Of course he doesn't know--" His eyes opened; eagerly he ran on: "Why, Tom, it's just the boy and girl of it! Puppy love! You know how that is."

"I didn't notice how things was going till if was too late. We might as well talk frankly, Mr. Gray. Prob'ly it's well you saw me first, eh?

Well, when I understood where they was heading, I worried a lot--after what you said that day, understand? But those two! Pshaw! It was like they had known each other always. It was like 'Bob's' mother and me when we first met; her beautiful and fine and educated, and me rough and awkward. Only Buddy's a better boy than I was. He's got more in him. I s'pose all womenfolks have that mother feeling that makes 'em yearn over the unlikeliest fellers." Parker looked appealingly at his stricken hearer, then quickly dropped his eyes, for Gray's countenance was like that of a dying man--or of a man suffering the stroke of a surgeon's knife.

"After all, it's youth. You're a good deal older than 'Bob,' and I s'pose you sort of dazzled her. She likes you. She thinks you're great.

You kinda thrill her, but--I don't believe she ever dreamed you was actually--that you actually cared for her. You've got a grand way, you know, and she ain't a bit conceited about herself. Why, I _know_ she never figgered it that way, because she made Buddy promise to tell you the first thing; sent him to the bank a-purpose, thinking you'd be so glad on his account."