“Not as clearly as you seem to. But he did appear to be worth helping a bit.”
“Ah; that is the chord I was trying to touch. You ought to help him some more, Mr. Trask. Don’t you reckon so?”
“‘Mr. Trask’ wouldn’t, but perhaps ‘Philip’ would,” he suggested mildly.
“Well, ‘Philip,’ then. Don’t you see how brave he is?—to laugh at himself and all his misfortunes, the hardships his wildness has brought upon him? You say you are looking for a prospecting partner; why don’t you take him?”
“Do you really mean that?”
“Certainly I mean it. It might result in two good things. If you could get him off in the mountains by himself, and live with him, and make him work hard, you might make a real man of him.”
“Yes?” said Philip. “That is one of the two good things. What is the other?”
“The other is what it might do for you. Or am I wrong about that?”
“No,” he said, after a little pause. “I still think you are a witch. You’ve found out that I live in a shell, and it’s so. I guess I was born that way. You think the shell would crack if I should take hold of a man like this Bromley and try to brother him?”
“I am sure it would,” she replied gravely. “It couldn’t help cracking.” Then, as a low-toned call came from the inside of the tent: “Yes, mummie, dear,—I’m coming.”