His brother examined him steadily for a moment, and then went on.
"I don't know whether you've learned anything in the army or not. But it ought to have taught you that you've got to live straight with your buddy or you can't get on."
"Straight!" sneered Harry, "like you. You call this straight—what you're doing?"
"No," Jim admitted. "It's not straight. It's crooked as hell, but if it wasn't, you'd have been drummed out of the Service by now. I don't want you to think I care about you. I didn't—out there. It was only the honor of the service I was thinking about. I'd do it again if I had to. But I do care about this girl you've bamboozled into marrying you—you and Quinlevin. And whatever the dirty arrangement between you that made it possible, I want to make it clear to you here and now that she isn't going to be mixed up in any of your rotten deals. She isn't your sort and you couldn't drag her down to your level if you tried. I'll know more when Quinlevin gets back and then——"
Jim Horton paused as he realized that he had said too much, for he saw his brother start and then stare at him.
"Ah, Barry Quinlevin—is away!"
Jim nodded. "Yes," he said, "in Ireland."
Harry had risen, glowering.
"And you think I'm going to slink off to-night to my kennel and let you go back to the studio. You in my uniform—as me—to Moira."
Jim Horton thought deeply for a moment and then rose and coolly straightened his military blouse.