Babe Deveril, taken off his feet by the unexpectedness of this, stared at the bank-notes in the great hard palm, and from them to the grinning face. And slowly, from a conflicting tumult of emotions, in which, strangely enough, anger surged highest, Deveril's face went violently red.
"Damn you and your eternal posings!" Lynette caught those words, clear and high. But she missed the eloquence of the shrug into which Timber-Wolf's shoulders lifted.
"It's up to you, Kid," said Standing, and still he kept his voice low and quiet. The money lay in his outstretched palm. "The minute I make my offer I consider my obligation fulfilled. If you are too proud to take it ... well, then, the devil take you for a fool, and I'll use the money elsewhere."
Deveril put out his hand, selecting from the several bills.
"My three thousand, I take," he said, "because it is mine. And the two thousand with it, judging that fair interest, considering the risks my money took. As for the rest—" he whipped back, and his voice, because of the emotions near choking him, was little more than a harsh whisper—"you can keep it and go to hell with it! I want none of your cursed charity!"
Timber-Wolf's thick eyebrows lifted, and a new look dawned in his eyes.
"By thunder, Baby Devil, you've the makings of a man in you!" he exclaimed. "You and I could be friends!"
"Don't fool yourself. We won't be!"
"I didn't say we would!" And Bruce Standing glared at him angrily. "I only said we could. There's a difference there, Kid. I could eat tripe, but I'm damned if I ever will!"
As the two men eyed each other, it was impossible to conceive of any earthly happening bringing them within the warm enclosure of man's friendship.