"Joe ain't bad. No, siree. Ask Josh Doogan, who was down and out with something in his inside last year. When the doctor told him an operation by a specialist in Philadelphia was the only thing that would save him, and he hadn't a cent, Joe fixed him up and Josh is back working in the Camps to-day. Yes!—ask Jem Sullivan, who got into trouble with the police in Vancouver. He's working for Joe and he's making good, too. Ask Jenny Daykin who it was that took care of her for a year, after her Sam was drowned out at The Ghoul there, until her young Sam finished for a school teacher. Ask,—Oh! ask most anybody; grand-dad even, though he won't take a nickel from Joe or anybody else except what he works for,—ask him. He's queer, is Joe, and I ain't a bit struck on him,—not now,—I 'most hate him. But he ain't got a bad heart, all the same."
"Rita," I put in, "I believe every word of it, and, what is more, I am mighty glad to hear you say it, for the first impression I had of him was, 'Here's a man with a good, open, honest face, and his body is a perfect working machine,—a real man after my own heart.' But he jumped on me with both hands and feet, as I might say;—I jumped back,—and, there we are.
"I know what's wrong with him, Rita. As far as I can see, he has been lucky,—luckier than most men. He has not had a single set-back. He has been what they call a success. He is younger than I am by a year or two, and he owns tugs and superintends camps, while I,—well, I am just starting in. But he has got to putting down all this progress to his own superior ability absolutely. He does not think that, maybe, circumstances have been kind to him."
Rita looked guardedly at me.
"Don't misunderstand me,—I'm not saying that he has not been clever and has not grasped every opportunity that came his way, worked hard and all that;—Oh! you know what I mean. But he has got to thinking that Joe Clark is everything and no one else is anything. It is bad for any man when he gets that way. Give Joe Clark a set-back or two and he will come out a bigger and a better man.
"He is glutted and bloated with too much of his own way,—that's his trouble."
Rita sighed.
"I guess you're right,—Joe used to be good friends with me. When we were kids, Joe said he was going to marry me when he got big. He don't say that any more though. Guess he's got too big. Tells me all about the fine ladies he meets in Vancouver and Victoria and up the coast. Wouldn't ever give me a chance, though, to get to know how to talk good, and all that. Oh!—I know I ain't good at grammar. I wanted to be. Joe said schooling just spoiled girls, and I was best at home. Still, he talks about the ones that has the schooling.
"He started in telling me about his lady friends again, to-day. I didn't want to know about them, so I just told him. I was mad, anyway;—about him and you, I guess. He was mad, too. Said I was fresh. Grand-dad took your part against Joe. Said he liked you anyway. Then he took my part. He knows Joe,—you bet.
"He says, 'That'll do, Joe. You leave Rita be. She's a good lass and you ain't playin' the game fair.'