"I'll show it to you. You can keep it for me, if you want to."
"Seein' it will do. And one thing more: you promise me now, on your word of honor, not to take any more of those stock market fliers for—well, for ten years, anyhow."
Kent promised; he would have promised anything. His color had come back, his spirits were now as high as they had been low, and he was striding up and down the room like a mad thing.
"But how did you get it for me?" he kept demanding. The captain bade him stop.
"Never mind how I got it," he declared. "I got it, and you've got it, and you'll have to be satisfied with that. Don't ask me again, George."
"I won't, but—but I can't understand Mr. Phillips giving it back. He didn't have to, you know. Say, I think it was mighty generous of him, after all. Don't you?"
Sears's lip twitched. "It looks as if somebody was generous," he observed. "Now run along, George, and fix up that letter to your brother-in-law."
"I'm going to. I'm going now. But, Cap'n Kendrick, I don't know what to say to you. I—why, great Scott, I can't begin to tell you how I feel about what you've done! I'd cut off my head for you; honest I would."
"Cuttin' off your own head would be consider'ble of a job. Better keep your head on, George.... And use it once in a while."
"You know what this means to me, Cap'n Kendrick. To my future and—and maybe some one else's future, too. Why, now I can go—I can say—— Oh, great Scott!"