"Then it can do the other thing."
Bob's tone became significant.
"And you realize what—what the other thing might be?"
"You bet I do! You can't live in Murderers' Row without having that rubbed into you."
They talked softly, in a corner of the visitors' room, because other little groups were scattered about, each centering round some sullen, swarthy man, wreathed in mystery and darkness.
"That's all right, old chap," Bob agreed; "but you see, don't you, that it's only a stand for an idea?"
"It's a stand for telling the truth, isn't it?"
"The truth—as you see it?"
"The truth as it is—as I'm willing to bank on it."
"Banking on it in a way that—that may call for a great deal of pluck."