Again he laughed and again the righteous Crimmins winced. Garrison's
gray eyes had the glint of sun shining on ice. His mouth looked as it
had many a time when he fought neck-and-neck down the stretch, snatching
victory by sheer, condensed, bulldog grit. Crimmins knew of old what
that mouth portended, and he spoke hurriedly.

"Don't do anything rash, Bud. Bygones is bygones, and, as the Bible
says: 'Circumstances alters cases,' and--"

"Then this is how I stand," cut in Garrison steadily, unheeding the
advice. He counted the dishonorable tally on his fingers. "I'm a
horse-poisoner, a thief, a welcher. I've deserted my wife and family. I
owe you--how much?"

"Five thousand," said Crimmins deprecatingly, adding on the two just to
show he had no hard feelings.

"Good," said Garrison. He bit his knuckles; bit until the blood came.
"Good," he said again. He was silent.

"I ain't in a hurry," put in Crimmins magnanimously. "But you can pay it
easy. The major--"

"Is a gentleman," finished Garrison, eyes narrowed. "A gentleman whom
I've wronged--treated like--" He clenched his hands. Words were of no
avail.

"That's all right," argued the other persuasively. "What's the use of
gettin' flossy over it now? Ain't you known all along, when you put