"No, I shouldn't. I'd pay someone else—someone who wasn't what you called yourself just now—to look after 'em." Larpent's voice was eminently practical if somewhat devoid of sympathy. "Gutter-snipes are damned quick to pick up—things they ought not," he observed dryly.
Saltash stirred uncomfortably in his chair as though something pricked him. "Think I'm a contaminating influence?" he said.
Larpent shrugged his shoulders. "It's not for me to say. All diseases are not catching—any more than they are incurable."
"Ho!" Saltash laughed suddenly and rather bitterly. "Are you suggesting—a cure?"
Larpent turned his head back again and puffed a cloud of smoke upwards.
"There's a cure for most things," he observed.
"Can the Ethiopian change his skin?" gibed Saltash.
Larpent was silent for a space. Then: "A painful process no doubt!" he said. "But more wonderful things have happened."
"Pshaw!" said Saltash.
Nevertheless when Larpent rose a little later and bade him good-night, he reached up a couple of fingers in careless comradeship.
"Good-night, old fellow! Thanks for putting up with me! Sure you don't want to kick me?"