“Yes. And here’s another: Is it worth while?”
“To bolster him, you mean; to ‘pull him out of the mud,’ to use his own phrase?”
“No; that would be a waste of energy. I mean to keep him out permanently, to continue pulling indefinitely.”
For a long time the two men sat in silence.
“God knows,” said Randall at last. “I’ve asked myself the same question for years—and 192 couldn’t answer it. It’s as big as the universe. Steve is simply an atom. It’s unanswerable.”
In the pause following Roberts lit one of the seemingly inexhaustible black cigars, after proffering its mate. Again the two sat there, the blue haze of mutual understanding gathering between them.
“I say it’s unanswerable,” repeated Randall. “It’s the old problem of the young supporting the uselessly old, the well serving the incurably diseased. It means eternal vigilance from some one, eternal sacrifice. It’s insoluble, neither more nor less.”
“Yes,” said Roberts. “I’ve found it so—insoluble. Particularly so in this case.”
Slowly Randall’s glance lifted, met the other’s eyes. That instant, as a flame is born, came full understanding between them.
“Yes, particularly so in this case,” echoed Roberts; “for it means a woman’s sacrifice, one particular woman’s sacrifice. Nothing else in the world will do—nothing.”