"I owe nearly a hundred thousand," said Wilmot.
"I've been worse stung," said Blizzard.
"Where the devil do you get all your money, Blizzard?"
"I've lived for money and power. I've been lucky, clever--and unscrupulous."
"I like your frankness. But you are not letting me in for anything rotten?"
"Your Revolutionary ancestors fought against just such forces as you are to fight against--unjust taxation, abuse of power, and corruption in high places. Are you going to serve?"
"I'm going it pretty blind, but I think so. I like the idea of fighting. I like the idea of paying my debts. And at times I think a bullet in the head would be a matter for self-congratulation."
"That," said Blizzard, "is the feeling of two classes of young men--those who are tangled up with women and those who aren't."
Wilmot laughed, though the legless man's words brought the ache into his heart.
"You will return to New York," Blizzard went on, "during the first half of January."