“I understood—and didn’t blame you. There are dozens of people who know Old Man Roberts and still never see him when passing face to face. It’s all in the game.”
At last Armstrong’s glance returned, almost with wonder. “And you don’t lay it up against them?”
“Sometimes. Usually, however, not. Life’s too short to play with toys; and enmities are toys—double-edged ones at that. You haven’t answered my question yet.”
“I know; but just a moment more. Do you recall, by the way, a prophecy I made once, years ago?”
“Yes; it never came true as far as I am concerned.”
“Perhaps you never had cause to have it do so.”
“Possibly.”
“With me it did come about. I’ve hated you 278 ever since—from the day you left. Do you realize why I haven’t answered your question?”
“Yes, why you haven’t. I’m still waiting.”
“I’m wondering,” mused Armstrong, “why I don’t hate you, now that we’re here together. I’ve thought a lot of bitter things about you, more than about any one in the world. I don’t know why I don’t say them now that I’ve got the chance.”