"That, as a beginning. If you prove yourself the kind of man I think you are,—the kind that can learn to run a railroad system,—I'll push you up the line to a hundred thousand, besides chances to come in on stock deals with George Ashton and myself."
"But if you think I'm a—"
"You're the only man that ever outfaced me in my own office. I'll chance the rest,—though I had your record looked up as soon as your name was cabled to me. I know not only who you are but what you are."
Blake bent forward, frowning. "I've stood about enough of this."
"Wait," said Mr. Leslie. "I'm not going to drag that in. I mention it only that you will understand without argument why my offer is based on the condition that you at once and for all time give over your ridiculous idea of becoming my son-in-law."
"You—mean—that—?"
"That I'd rather see my daughter in her grave than married to you. Is that plain enough? You're a good engineer—when you're not a drunkard."
For a moment Blake sat tense and silent. Then he replied steadily: "I haven't touched a drop of drink since that steamer piled up on that coral reef."
"Three months, at the outside," rejoined Mr. Leslie. "You've been known to go half a year. But always—"
"Yes, always before this try," said Blake. "It's different, though, now, with the backing of two such—ladies!"