"Hal, I don't know. In the first place, it's impossible. And where could we take her and what could we do—in short, what's the use? Why the deuce should we prolong the thing any further?
"In the world I refused to struggle because nothing tempted me; in this infernal hole I have fought when there was nothing to fight for. If civilization held no prize worth an effort, why should I exert myself to preserve the life of a rat? Faugh! It's sickening! I wondered why I wanted those spears. Now I know. I have an idea I'm going to be coward enough to use one—or enough of a philosopher."
"Paul, that isn't like you."
"On the contrary, it is consistent with my whole life. I have never been overly keen about it. To end it in a hole like this—well, that isn't exactly what I expected; but it is all one—after. Understand me, Hal; I don't want to desert you; haven't I stuck? And I would still if there were the slightest possible chance. Where can we go? What can we do?"
There was a long silence; then Harry's voice came calmly:
"I can stay in the game. You call yourself a philosopher. I won't quarrel about it, but the world would call you a quitter. Whichever it is, it's not for me. I stay in the game. I'm going to find Desiree if I can, and, by the Lord, some day I'm going to cock my feet up on the fender at the Midlothian and make 'em open their mouths and call me a liar!"
"A worthy ambition."
"My own. And, Paul, you can't—you're not a quitter."
"Personally, yes. If I were here alone, Hal"—I picked up one of the spears and passed my palm over its sharp point—"I would quit cold. But not—not with you. I can't share your enthusiasm, but I'll go fifty-fifty on the rest of it, including the fender—when we see it."
"That's the talk, old man. I knew you would."