McLagan removed the cigar from his strong mouth. He rolled it between his fingers which seemed to crush it unnecessarily. He shook his head.
“I’m not yearning to tell ‘why’ any more than ‘how,’” he said, with a return to his rougher manner. “It wouldn’t hurt a thing telling it, except for the laugh it’s liable to raise. You see, boy, I’ve a head full of notions. Some of ’em some folks might reckon sort of crazy. But they aren’t. They’re just a throw back to something that’s in us all. The only thing is I’ve given way to ’em, and they’ve got so that I have to hand ’em best. One time I felt the only thing in life was to make good. I’m older since then. I still guess that making good needs to be done, but I get tired beating the other feller. It kind of seems waste of effort, unless the other feller needs beating. I’m glad for poor old Jim, who’s Claire’s brother, to be able to hand you back his dough. Then it’ll make things better for you. You two boys were swell triers taking a Chink yarn for gospel. Good luck, boy, anyway. Handle that stuff right when you get it into Beacon.”
“I’ll do the best I know, Mac. Say—That oil play of yours? It looks like beating every other feller. It’s big. It’s big for Beacon, an’ the folks around.”
McLagan’s smile deepened.
“Sure,” he said simply. “It means so much I can’t just see it all. This’ll be a swell country after awhile. It’ll get oil-crazy when I let my story go.”
“They don’t know yet?”
McLagan shook his head.
“They will when I get in this time. And I want it that way. You know this country’s got right into my guts. I want to set the decent citizens lying around it whooping with the things that make life easy, and pass ’em a time that won’t leave ’em yearning to muss themselves with the dirt lying back of human nature. What’ll you do? Quit for the sun places?” He glanced down at the gold bags significantly. “With that bunch a wise guy don’t need to worry beyond this coast.”
“That’s so.”