"I—I beg pardon?" says Brink, starin' puzzled.
"You're good at play organizing, aren't you," goes on Old Hickory. "Well, here's an opportunity to spread yourself. One of the manufacturing units we control out in Ohio. Three thousand men, in a little one-horse town where there's nothing better to do in their spare time than go to cheap movies and listen to cheaper walking delegates. I guess they need you more than we do in the bond room. Organize 'em as much as you like. Show 'em how to play. Give that He-Crab act if you wish. We'll start you in at a dollar a man. That satisfactory?"
I believe Brink tried to say it was, only what he got out was so choky you could hardly tell. But he goes out beamin'.
"Well!" says Old Hickory, turnin' to me. "I suppose he'll call that coming safely out of a nose dive, eh?"
"Or side-slippin' into success," says I. "I think you've picked another winner, Mr. Ellins."
"Huh!" he grunts. "You mean you think you helped me do it. But I want you to understand, young man, that I learned to be tolerant of other people's failings long before you were born. Toleration. It's the keystone of every big career. I've practiced it, too, except—well, except after a bad night."
And then, seein' that rare flicker in Old Hickory's eyes, I gives him the grin. Oh, sure you can. It's all in knowin' when.