"I don't class them at all. Whether a man steals the bank's money or you give it to him as a gift isn't to the point. My job is over when I tell you that he gets what he doesn't earn. The rest, Mr. Collingham, is up to you—or the district attorney, as the case may be."
"I'm afraid I don't see it that way."
"It's your affair, Mr. Collingham, not mine. I only venture to remind you that we've had this little tussle over almost every man we've ever bounced. It does great credit to your kindness of heart, and if you want to go on supporting Follett and his family for the rest of your life—"
Collingham winced at this hint that his kindness of heart was greater than his business capacity. It was a point at which he always felt himself vulnerable.
"Speaking of Follett's family," he said, gliding away from the main topic, "we've got that boy of his here. How is he getting on?"
"Ah, there you have a horse of another color. My first report on him was not so favorable; but now that we've knocked the high jinks out of him—"
"Oh, we've done that, have we?"
"He's on the way to become a valuable boy. Good worker, cheery, likable. If he can get over his one defect, he'll be worth hanging on to."
"And his one defect is—"
"Liable to get excited and lose his head. Type to see red in a fight, and do something dangerous."