Both because his affection for the old preacher would have tolerated nothing less and because it would have been folly now to play the cheaper game, he spoke in the terms of generosity.
But to his surprise and discomfiture, Brother Hawkins shook a stubborn head.
“Thar ain’t skeercely no power on ’arth, Mr. Spurrier,” he declared, “thet could fo’ce me inter doin’ no business with ye.”
“But, Brother Hawkins,” argued the opportunity hound, “you are cutting your own throat. You and I standing together are invincible. Separate, we are lost. I’m almost willing to let you name the terms of agreement—to write the contract for yourself.”
“I’ve done been pore a right long while already,” the preacher reminded him as his eyes kindled with the zealot’s fire. “Long afore my day Jesus Christ was pore an’ ther Apostle Paul, an’ other righteous men. I ain’t skeered ter go on in likewise ter what I’ve always done.” He paused and laid a kindly hand on the shoulder of the man who offered him wealth.
“I ain’t seekin’ ter fault ye unduly, John Spurrier. 294 Mebby ye’ve done follered yore lights—but we don’t see with no common eye, ner no mutual disc’arnment. Ye’ve done misled folk thet swore by ye, ef I sees hit a’right. Now ye offers me wealth, much ther same as Satan offered hit ter Jesus on a high place, an’ we kain’t trade—no more then what they could trade.”
The old preacher’s attitude held the trace of kindliness that sought to drape reproof in gentleness and to him, as had been impossible with Cappeze, Spurrier poured out his confidence. At the outset, he confessed, he had deliberately dedicated himself to the development of wealth for himself and his employers, with no thought of others. Later, in a fight between wary capitalists where vigilance had to be met with vigilance, the seal of secrecy had been imperative. Frankness with the mountain men would have been a warning to his enemies. Now, however, his sense of responsibility was awake. Now he wanted to win back his status of confidence in this land where he had known his only home. Now what weight he had left to throw into the scales would be righteously thrown. Even yet he must move with strict, guarded secrecy.
But the old circuit rider shook his head.
“Hit’s too late, now, ter rouse faith in me, John,” he reiterated. “Albeit I’d love ter credit ye, ef so-be I could. What’s come ter pass kain’t be washed out with words.” He paused before he added the simple edict against which there was no arguing.
“Mebby I mout stand convinced even yit ef I didn’t know thet ther devil was urgin’ me on with prospects of riches.”