one I know. You're the only one of the outsiders who stayed by the Big
Jam," Orde continued. "Don't try to favour him--that's no favour. If he
doesn't make good, fire him. Don't tell any of your people that he's the
son of a friend. Let him stand on his own feet. If he's any good we'll
work him into the old game. Just give him a job, and keep an eye on him
for me, to see how well he does."

"Jack, the job's his," said Welton. "But it won't do him much good,
because it won't last long. We're cleaned up in Minnesota; and have only
an odd two years on some odds and ends we picked up in Wisconsin just to
keep us busy."

"What are you going to do then?" asked Orde, quietly dipping his oars
again.

"I'm going to retire and enjoy life."

Orde laughed quietly.

"Yes, you are!" said he. "You'd have a high old time for a calendar
month. Then you'd get uneasy. You'd build you a big house, which would
keep you mad for six months more. Then you'd degenerate to buying
subscription books, and wheezing around a club and going by the cocktail
route. You'd look sweet retiring, now, wouldn't you?"

Welton grinned back, a trifle ruefully.

"You can no more retire than I can," Orde went on. "And as for enjoying
life, I'll trade jobs with you in a minute, you ungrateful old idiot."