"That is of small concern."
"Isn't it, though? I'm counting on that to boost me along on the other thing. Nothing like a little good luck to keep a fellow braced up."
"But I'm sure you have some Dutch blood,—and you know the Dutch never fight harder than when the odds are against them."
"Then it's too bad I'm not Hans Van Amsterdam. He'd have the scrap of his life."
"Do you mean that the odds are so greatly against you?" asked
Genevieve, with sudden gravity.
"What's the use of talking about it?" said Blake, almost brusquely. "If I win, I win; and I'm supposed to believe that is all it means. If I lose, you're rid of me for good."
Genevieve bit her lip and turned her head to hide her starting tears.
"I did not think you would be so bitter over it!" she half sobbed.
"Can't you take a joke?" he demanded. "Great joke!—me thinking I've a ghost of a show of winning you! No; the laugh's on me, all right. Idea of me dreaming I can down that damnable thirst!"
"Tom, you'll not give up—you'll not!" she cried with a fierceness that shook him out of his bitter despondency.