“Meaning me,” said Helm. And his expression far removed his statement from vanity or egotism.
Desbrough puffed at his pipe in silence. Presently he said:
“You can count me in, George—if there’s anything I can do.”
They did not shake hands. They exchanged no gushing remarks. They did not look at each other with exalted sentimentality. They simply looked—then George grinned and nodded—and said:
“All right, Bill. You’re in.”
A long silence. Then Desbrough:
“Not that I believe in the game, old man. I don’t. I despise the people. I’d go in with the wise boys who rob them if I didn’t happen to have inherited enough to slop along on.”
“How much have you got?” said George—a necessary question, as this was to be a partnership.
“Nineteen hundred and fifty a year—county bonds and a farm. My law practice—I made seventy-five dollars last year.”
“You won’t take anything but people too poor to pay—and then only when you think they’re being wronged by somebody with money. That’s why I asked you in.”