“That remains to be seen. Are you going to run that––dive?”
“Why––I don’t know. If I didn’t––”
“Oh, yes, you’re probably thinking how selfish I am. You wouldn’t recognize a pure motive if you met one in the street. But to think of a Devereux––almost the same thing as a Starkweather––”
“What’s your idea? To have me be a jolly little martyr?”
“There’s this much to say, Henry––at least I’d put John’s money to a nobler use than you ever would.”
Henry grimaced. “Your League?”
“Yes, what else?”
He was an impulsive young man, and sometimes he made up his mind by contraries. “I wouldn’t count too much on it,” he said cheerfully. “I might astonish you.”
“You––Henry Devereux! Am I going to see 86 my own sister’s son in a polluted enterprise like––”
“You’re going to see your own grandfather’s great-grandson make P. T. Barnum look a Kickapoo medicine man––if necessary,” said Henry. “Only don’t you worry about any pollution. That’s where I draw the line. I’m not going to stage one single pollute.”