He's the King Gink!
He's the King Gink!
He's the King Gink!
K-I-N-G, King! KING!
The Jimsy King, the young prince who had had everything that all the wealth of Ali Baba's cave couldn't compass for Carter Van Meter ... standing here before him now, his face drained of its color and joy, begging him for a hope. There was a long moment when he hesitated, when the forces within him fought breathlessly and without quarter, but—long ago Stephen Lorimer had said of him—"there's nothing frail about his disposition ... his will doesn't limp." He wrenched his gaze away before he answered, but he answered steadily.
"That is what I believe."
Jimsy was visibly and laboriously working it out. "Then, she's only sticking to me because she thinks I'm worth saving. If she thought I was a regular 'Wild King,' if she believed what her mother and a lot of other people have always believed, she'd let go of me."
"I believe she would," said Carter.
"Then," said Jimsy King, "it's really pretty simple. She's only got to realize—to see—that I'm not worth hanging on to; that it's too late. That's all."
"What do you mean?"