He shook his head with a negative movement which Effie was quick enough to realize meant yielding. She wanted him to yield. It would simplify all her purpose. She desired that he should participate in the transaction.
"You'll regret it, Effie," he said, in his usual easy tones. "You'll regret it so you'll hate to think of this moment all the rest of your life. It's not you talking, my dear, it's just—the experience you've had to go through. Can't you see? You've never been like this before. And it isn't you. Say, I'd give my right hand it you'd quit the whole thing."
But the girl's resolution was unwavering.
"You—still refuse—to countenance it?" she demanded.
Again Bob shook his head. But now he moved away and struck a match to relight his pipe.
"No," he said. Then he slowly puffed out great clouds of smoke. "No, my dear, if you're bent on it." Then he moved to the cook-stove and supported one foot upon it.
"Say—you guess I'm selfish. You guess I haven't acted as I ought to help push our boat along. You reckon I've become a sort of saloon-loafing bum. Guess you sort of think I'm just about the limit. Well, maybe I'm nothing to shriek about. However, I've told you all I feel. I've told you what you're going to feel—later. Meanwhile it's up to me to help you all I know. Tell me the whole thing, and I'll do the business for you. I'll see Dug McFarlane for you, and fix things. But it's on one condition."
"What is it?"
Something of the coldness had passed from the girl's eyes. She was smiling because she had achieved her purpose.
"Why—just this. That I don't touch one single dollar of the price you're to receive for those poor devils' blood. That's all."