“No, no!” he cried. “I never yet deserted my pals, and I'm not going to begin.”
“I don't believe you ever before had such pals to desert,” was my reply to that. “Quite apart from my own share in the matter, it makes me positively sick to see a fellow like you mixed up with such a crew in such a game. Get out of it, man, get out of it while you can! Now's your time. Get out of it, for God's sake!”
I sat up in my eagerness. I saw him waver. And for one instant a great hope fluttered in my heart. But his teeth met. His face darkened. He shook his head.
“That's the kind of rot that isn't worth talking, and you ought to know it,” said he. “When I begin a thing I go through with it, though it lands me in hell, as this one will. I can't help that. It's too late to go back. I'm going on and you're going with me, Cole, like a sensible chap!”
I shook my head.
“Only on the one condition.”
“You—stick—to—that?” he said, so rapidly that the words ran into one, so fiercely that his decision was as plain to me as my own.
“I do,” said I, and could only sigh when he made yet one more effort to persuade me, in a distress not less apparent than his resolution, and not less becoming in him.
“Consider, Cole, consider!”
“I have already done so, Rattray.”