"For ten years I've touched no man's penny but my own," he said fiercely. "In money matters, I've been as honest as God!"
The rage was dying out of his face, and despair was growing—the despair that sees nothing but defeat, failure. He looked unbelief at David.
"But what difference does that make to you?" he asked bitterly. "Well—how much is it to be?"
The piercing brothership that had been surging up in David for this desperate, defiant, suspicious man, swept suddenly to the flood.
"Don't you see that we're making the same fight?" he cried with passionate earnestness. "I admire you! I honour you! Your secret is as safe with me as in your own heart."
David stretched out his hand. "I honour you!" he said.
For several moments Rogers's gaze searched David's soul. "You're speaking the truth—man?" he asked in a slow, harsh whisper.
"I am."
He continued staring at David's open face, flushed with its fervid kinship. "If you're lying to me—!" he whispered. Then he held out his hand, and his thin fingers gripped about David's hand like tight-drawn wires.
"During the month I've known you, you've seemed a white man. I think I believe you. But, man! don't play with me!" he burst out with sudden appeal. "If there's any trick in you, out with it now!"