Carroll laughed softly before he helped him out.
"And you were bitterly disappointed. It's a very old tale. You had cut loose—and you couldn't get back when you wanted to."
"I suppose I'd changed: the bush had got hold of me. The ways and views of the people over yonder didn't seem to be those I remembered. They couldn't look at things from my standpoint; I wouldn't adopt theirs. You and I have had to face—realities."
"Hunger," corrected Carroll softly; "wet snow to sleep in; bodily exhaustion. They probably teach one something, or, at any rate, they alter one's point of view. When you've marched for days on half rations, some things don't seem so important—how you put on your clothes, for instance, or how your dinner's served. But I don't see yet what bearing this has on your reluctance to extend the Clermont operations."
"I could act as director, with such men as Nairn, when it was a question of running a mine; but it's doubtful if I'd make a successful financial juggler. It's hard to keep one's hands off some of the professional tricksters. Bluff, assumption, make-believe—Pshaw! I've had enough of them. Better stick to the ax and cross-cut; that's what I feel to-night."
"Now that you've relieved your mind, I'll show you where you were wrong. You said that you had changed in the wilderness—you haven't; your kind are fore-loopers born. Your place is with the vedettes, ahead of the massed columns. But there's a point that strikes one—is your objection to financial scheming due to honesty or pride?"
Vane laughed.
"I suspect a good deal of it's bad temper. Anyhow, I've felt that rather than truckle with that fellow Horsfield I'd like to pitch him down the stairs. But all this is pretty random talk."
"It is," Carroll agreed. "You haven't said whether you intend to authorize that extension of capital?"
"I suppose it will have to be done. And now it's very late and I'm going to sleep."