"May I speak as the spirit moves, Henry?"
"If you think I deserve it. Why shouldn't you?"
"It is a question of obligations rather than of deservings,—my obligations. No brother of my own blood could have done more for me than you have."
"And you want to even it up?"
"No; but I want to tell you while I may that it has come very near to me in these last few days. At first I was inclined to make another query of it, and to speculate as to your probable motive; but latterly I've come to call it by its right name."
Jeffard shakes his head slowly, and removes his pipe to say: "Don't make any more mistakes, Lansdale. I'm neither better nor worse than I was that night when I told you the story of the man and his temptation. I know what you mean and what you would say; but this experiment and its results—the twenty odd pounds of flesh you have put on, and the new lease of life they stand for—mean more to me than they do to you."
"I don't begin to understand the drift of that," says Lansdale.
"No? I wonder if you would understand and believe if I should tell you the truth; if I should confess that my motive, so far as you are concerned, is entirely selfish?"
"Since understanding implies belief, I shall have to say no to that. But you might try,—for your own satisfaction."
"It's altogether unprofitable; but perhaps it's your due. I'll have to go back a little to make it clear. In the old days we were pretty good friends, but I think you will admit that there have always been reservations. You haven't known me and I haven't known you as friends of the David and Jonathan sort know each other. Isn't that so?"