“That’s what I’ve thought,” said the man drily.
“I don’t know how you came to be in this C. B. and L. mixup,” said John quickly, “but I think you stood by them as long as you could—”
“That’s me,” said the man.
“—and did their dirty work for them,” added John.
The man’s face clouded a little.
“The ‘R. and Q.’ wants that kind of men for clean work—” He paused, seeking the right words. “I ’m not clever, you know,” said John. He raised his clear eyes to the man’s face.
The face sneered a little—then it changed subtly. “I believe you ’re speaking God’s truth,” he said soberly.
“I believe I am,” said John. “I ’m not clever—I know it. But the road needs men that are—Men that know enough to be rascals and won’t,” he added quietly.
The man looked at him a minute. Then he laughed—a long, full laugh. It had a hint of fellowship in it.—“You ’re a rum un,” he said.
John smiled. “Thank you.” He held out his hand. “It ’sa bargain?”