Wade shook his head.
“He can't do it, Steve. We've run him to earth, and he knows it. The game played itself for him, and now it's playing itself for us.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
THE position Benson had taken and which he was evidently determined to maintain, was inexplicable to Stephen. He was absolutely silent on this matter that had become of vital significance. He never alluded to it, and he never permitted Stephen to allude to it in his presence. His whole manner toward him, however, was one of increasing kindness and affection, dependence even; and Stephen often encountered his gaze, wistful and searching, fixed upon him as if he were seeking to read his thoughts. Beyond this there was no change that he could discern; yet there was a change, for Gibbs said to him one day.
“What's the matter with your Uncle Jake, Steve? Will you tell me what's got into him?”
“Matter!” repeated Stephen doubtfully. “Nothing that I know of.”
“He's a mass of nerves. I don't seem able to please him with anything I do; I wonder if he's sick. Why don't he take a rest? That office will be the death of him! He's grinding his soul out in the hunt for dollars—it's growing on him; and he's getting awful cranky! Why, only yesterday I said something about Ben Wade, and he flared up in my face, just went all to pieces. Do you reckon Wade has offended him?”
“I guess not,” said Stephen evasively. He meditated on what Gibbs had told him. Then Benson was suffering, and suffering keenly. He was hiding it from him, but at the office he had not been able to do this, and poor old Gibbs thought it was overwork.