* * * * *
In the lodging house old man Rubble was discussing the affair of the night before with a half dozen of the men of his own party. Word had gone round that Lush Currie had decided to leave, and it was generally agreed that he was doing the only thing reasonable under the circumstances. The real point of interest was the relationship between King Howden and Bill McCartney. As the latter, with a number of Keith McBain's men had just left for camp, there was no reason for postponing a discussion that had been held up during the day, merely because the presence of Bill McCartney made any reference to the question a little difficult. Now that McCartney had gone, the question was raised at once and the discussion had become very spirited. One thing puzzled them all. Why had King Howden not taken the challenge when it was given to him and finished the fight right there? The challenge had certainly been offensive enough to have justified any man's accepting it at once. And King would never again get an opportunity to fight McCartney when the latter was just finishing one struggle. The advantage had lain all with King, and to tell the truth, the men were not a little disappointed that he had failed to go in when the conditions were so much in his favor. It was something more to increase the wondering they had already felt concerning King Howden.
"There's only one way to reason it out," said old man Rubble, after various opinions had been expressed. "The fact is Howden don't want to mix in with Bill at all. No one ever saw Howden do anything yet. He's just a big, raw, overgrown boy. He never did fight and I guess he never will if he can get out of it."
Someone in the group murmured a word of protest.
"Well," said Rubble, "I'm willing to wait till I find out. But I'm telling you right now that no man in any gang I've ever been with would have let Bill McCartney get away with it. If King Howden's got any stomach—and if he's got anything in it—he'd 'a' hit Bill McCartney on the jaw before he could have got the words out. I may be wrong, but—Howden's no good!"
But Rubble was not allowed to dismiss the affair so summarily. There was a somewhat thin voice that finally broke the long silence that followed Rubble's words. Old Gabe Smith, who had been a silent spectator during the events of the night before and had given silent audience to all the discussion of the day, ventured a remark or two that he was inclined to think had a bearing on the subject.
"An' what I would say is this," he observed in his most philosophical manner, after he had given due notice that he intended to speak on the question, "an' I have a feelin' that I'm not far wrong—what I would say is—if anybody here is takin' Mister Rubble's view of the matter—an' he's a right to his own opinion—he'd better not make up his mind for a little while—not just yet. An' I'll tell you why. In the first place we know that when Bill McCartney first met Currie it wasn't quite what you'd want to call reglar. He got Lush—but he got him foul. An' that ain't the way a good man gets anybody. An' then—in the second place—that affair last night was a little off color—Lush couldn't do anything there—he hadn't room. But—" and Gabe pointed the stem of his pipe at Rubble to emphasize his words, "we haven't seen this boy Howden at work yet."
"That's just it, Gabe," Rubble interrupted, "and we never will."
"Just a minute, now," Gabe persisted. "We haven't seen him workin' yet—but we may—we may. An' I'm goin' to wait long enough to give the boy a chance before I say my last word."
"Lord, Gabe, didn't he have a chance last night?"