"I suppose I am, in a way, though it's a long time since I met him. But why do you recommend our taking him?"
"I hate to see a man go to pieces as Benson's doing, and Clarke's ruining the fellow. He must have got two or three thousand dollars out of him one way or another and isn't satisfied with that. Lent him money on mortgage to start a foolish stock-raising speculation and keeps him well supplied with drink. The fellow's weak, but he has his good points."
"But what's Clarke's object?"
"It isn't very clear, but a man who's seldom sober is easily robbed and Benson's place is worth something; Clarke sees it's properly farmed. However, you must use your judgment about anything he tells you; I've given you warning."
He went away and Blake sat silent for a time. Though they had not been intimate friends, he had known Benson when the latter was a wild young subaltern, and it did not seem fitting to leave him in the clutches of a man who was ruining him in health and fortune. He would sooner not have met the man at all, but since they had met, there was, so far as he could see, only one thing to be done.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to take Benson with us," he said to Harding.
The American looked doubtful. "We could do with another white man, but I guess your friend isn't the kind we want. He may give us trouble, and you can't count on much help from a whisky-tank. However, if you wish it, you can bring him."
Soon afterwards Benson came out from the dining-room. He was two or three years younger than Blake and had a muscular figure, but he looked shaky and his face was weak and marked by dissipation. Smiling in a deprecatory way, he lighted a cigar.
"I'm afraid I made a fool of myself last night," he said. "If I made any unfortunate allusions you must overlook them. You must have seen that I wasn't altogether responsible."
"I did," Blake answered drily. "If we are to remain friends, you had better understand that I can't tolerate any further mention of the matter you talked about."