“I should like to hear yours,” said Somers. “You know him much better than I do. I haven’t got a rock-bottom opinion of him yet.”
“It’s not a matter of the time you’ve known him,” said Jaz. He was manifestly hedging, and trying to get at something. “You know I belong to his gang, don’t you?”
“Yes,” said Somers, wondering at the word ‘gang.’
“And for that reason I oughtn’t to criticise him, ought I?”
Somers reflected for some moments.
“There’s no oughts, if you feel critical,” he answered.
“I think you feel critical of him yourself at times,” said Jaz, looking up with a slow, subtle smile of cunning: like a woman’s disconcerting intuitive knowledge. It laid Somers’ soul bare for the moment. He reflected. He had pledged no allegiance to Kangaroo.
“Yet,” he said aloud to Jaz, “if I had joined him I wouldn’t want to hinder him.”
“No, we don’t want to hinder him. But we need to know where we are. Supposing you were in my position—and you didn’t feel sure of things! A man has to look things in the face. You yourself, now—you’re holding back, aren’t you?”
“I suppose I am,” said Richard. “But then I hold back from everything.”