The timber-man waved the statue aside, and looked at the youth with
critical eyes. "I've just been making up the accounts for the year," he
said. "It's been the best year I've had in seven. I've taken the starch
out of Belloc and Fabian. I've broken the back of their opposition--I've
got it like a twig in iron teeth."

"Yes, Tarboe's been some use, hasn't he?" was the suggestive response.

John Grier's eyes hardened. "You might have done it. You had it in you.
The staff of life--courage and daring--were yours, and you wouldn't take
it on. What's the result? I've got a man who's worth two of Fabian and
Belloc. And you"--he held up a piece of paper--"see that," he broke off.
"See that. It's my record. That's what I'm worth. That's what you
might have handled!" He took a cigar from his pocket, cut off the blunt
end, and continued: "You threw your chance aside." He tapped the paper
with the point of the cigar. "That's what Tarboe has helped do. What
have you got to show?" He pointed to the statue. "I won't say it ain't
good. It's a live man from the river. But what do I want with that,
when I can have the original man himself! My boy, the great game of life
is to fight hard, and never to give in. If you keep your eyes open,
things'll happen that'll bring what you want."

He stood up, striking a match to light his cigar. It was dusk, and the
light of the match gave a curious, fantastic glimmer to his powerful,
weird, haggard face. He was like some remnant of a great life, loose in
a careless world.

"I tell you," he said, the smoke leaking from his mouth like a drift of
snow," the only thing worth doing is making the things that matter in the