He told all--all; like a little child babbling at his mother's knee.

"Why did I leave the track? Why? Why?" he finished in a whirlwind of
passion. "What happened? Tell me. Say I'm honest. Say it, Crimmins;
say it. Help me to get back. I can ride--ride like glory. I'll win for
you--anything. Anything to get me out of this hell of deceit, nonentity
namelessness. Help me to square myself. I'll make a name nobody'll be
ashamed of--" His words faded away. Passion left him weak and quivering.

Crimmins judicially cleared his throat. There was a queer light in his
eyes.

"It ain't Dan Crimmins' way to go back on a friend," he began, laying a
hand on Garrison's shoulder. "You don't remember nothing, all on account
of that bingle you got on the head. But it was Crimmins that made you,
Bud. Sweated over you like a father. It was Crimmins who got you out
of many a tight place, when you wouldn't listen to his advice. I ain't
saying it wasn't right to skip out after you'd thrown every race and the
Carter; after poisoning Sis--"

"Then--I--was--not--honest?" asked Garrison. He was horribly quiet.

"Emphatic'ly no," said Crimmins sadly. He shook his head. "And you don't
remember how you came to Dan Crimmins the night you skipped out and you
says: 'Dan, Dan, my only friend, tried and true, I'm broke.' Just like
that you says it. And Dan says, without waitin' for you to ask; he says:
'Billy, you and me have been pals for fifteen years; pals man and boy. A
friend is a friend, and a man who's broke don't want sympathy--he needs
money. Here's three thousand dollars--all I've got. I was going to buy
a home for the old mother, but friendship in need comes before all. It's