Phil held out his hand to him.
“All right, Jim! I’m sorry. Good-bye! Good-bye for good!”
Almost a haunted look came into the bloodshot eyes of the big fellow.
“Phil,––Phil,––ye don’t mean that? Ye wouldna throw me doon?”
“But I do mean it. I thought you and I were going to make a good partnership some day.”
“And aren’t we?”
“Not this way! Good heavens, Jim!––what’s the matter with you, anyway? Haven’t you got the courage to stand a little disappointment now and again without flying to this? You can’t go on being a fool all your life.
“I tell you, I came here to make good. I am making good and I’m going to make better. So can you, if you get down to it. We can turn this town round our thumbs, if we go to it together. If you haven’t the grit to quit this damnable foolishness––then I’m through with you for keeps and I’m going to find somebody with sense to go at it with me. If I can’t, then I’m going to go at it alone.”
With bent head, Jim stood in silence under the tirade.
“Where did you get this rig?” asked Phil, referring to the team and wagon.