"Anyway, I shall keep you to your word. If I feel that awful thirst coming on me; feel, as I have felt, that Hell's got its doors gaping wide open for me, I shall worry you."
"You won't; not worry me. Come that moment you hear the hinges start creaking, and we'll try, try together, to keep the doors shut."
"That you should take all this trouble——"
"Trouble be hanged! Don't you know how easy it is to poke another man's fire?"
Masters' eyes looked honestly into Dick's; he was very honest of purpose. Wanted, with all his soul, to keep those doors closed. For the sake of the woman whose trust had been betrayed; for the sake of the little one. He knew how facile is the descent into Hell. Knew, too, that a man ambitious to make a fool of himself never lacks help.
How shines a good deed in this bad world! The goodness of his own was illuminating Masters' eyes at that moment. And he had no fear of the proverb: that if he conferred a favour he might expect ingratitude. Plainly, Rigby was not built on those lines.
Dick was not much of a psychologist or mind reader. Saw only the honest eyes bright with enthusiasm; found them inspiriting; knew nothing of the inner thought prompting this extraordinary kindness.
His was not an inquiring nature; in his happy-go-lucky way he accepted Fate unquestionably. Help had come in his way, and he snapped at it as suddenly as if it were a dish of snapdragon. In response to Masters' words, he mentally thanked his stars, physically held out his hand. In silence, gratefully gripped his companion; was too thankful to speak.
Masters resumed his assumption of cheerfulness. Knew the difficulty he had to face before he spoke: putting seed into the ground does not make a harvest certain; said:
"Now, there is another thing to discuss: about the grub."