"Scratch Blake and send bearer against Condit Saturday. If he looks as good to you as he has to me, keep him busy. Some day I may have employment for him myself."
It was signed with the single letter D.
"There are no strings to it, after Condit?" Blue Jeans asked finally.
"None—if you want to quit. None."
"Then what is there in it for you?"
Blue Jeans had been schooled to be skeptical concerning any act masking as purely philanthropic. But the huge man wisely disclaimed such motives.
"Maybe you won't want to quit,—not right away." He had taken accurate account of the symptoms. Everybody wanted money, but this man's desire, he discerned, though great, was curbed and disciplined. It was not feverish, as if ambitious merely of a few days of debauch in town. It was controlled, and fixed and steady.
"You'll find other two hundreds waiting," said he.
"That's your gamble?"
"That's my gamble."