"Wait," said the lawyer. "Tell me, Jacobs, is there anything in this world you care for outside of yourself and your ambition to climb to fortune over the necks of others? I'm curious to know."
"Yes," answered the other, without hesitation. "There is something; there are dogs and children."
"Dogs and children," repeated the lawyer. "Dogs and children." He stood looking away through the failing light to where a strip of mauve-lined sky peeked through the heavy tissue of cloud.
"And what do dogs and children think of you?" he asked, abruptly.
"Both trust me," said Jacobs simply and Maddoc knew that he spoke the truth. He strode across and put his hands on the shoulders of the man from whom he had wrung confession.
"Listen!" he said harshly. "You know me and you know I don't often give a man like you more than a second chance. You have had your second chance and failed. But see here, I'm not infallible. If dogs and children trust you there must be some good in you, and by George! I'm going to do something which is either going to prove the biggest piece of damn foolishness or the biggest coup I have ever pulled off in my life. I'm going to take my grip from your throat, Jacobs, and leave you to the dogs and the children.
"Now, here's some news for you. The will has been found and Frank Stanhope is heir to the Scroggie forest-lands. But if there is oil here—and there is—both you and Pennsylvania Scroggie will be needed. I have no doubt but a satisfactory arrangement on a share producing plan can be made with the owner of the land. I'll see Pennsylvania Scroggie tonight and he'll do what I ask. I pulled him out of a rather tight hole and I guess he won't have forgotten. Come over to Stanhope's cottage in the morning. Now remember what the children and dogs expect of you, my friend; good-bye until tomorrow."
He smiled and held out his hand. The other man took it dazedly, then slowly and with head lifted towards the darkening skies, he passed down the road.