Hardy's face cleared. This was not the first waverer Jeff had brought back into line, not the first by several. There was something compelling in his friendly smile and affectionate manner.
“I'm sure Mr. Killen intends only what is right. I'm content to leave the matter entirely with you and him,” Hardy said.
Jeff turned to Rawson. “And you, old warhorse?”
“Have it your own way, but don't forget there's a nigger in the woodpile.”
Jeff and Killen walked to the office of the latter, which was on the next floor of the Century Building, the legislator stiffening his will to resist the assaults he felt would be made upon it. But as soon as the door was shut Jeff surprised him by laying a hand on his shoulder.
“Tell me all about it, Sam.”
Killen gasped. He got an impossible vision of young Farnum as his brother in trouble. “About what? I didn't say—”
“I've known for a week something was wrong. I couldn't very well ask you, but since I've blundered in you'd better let me help you if I can.”
Killen was touched. His lip trembled. “It don't do any good to talk about things. I guess a fellow has to carry his own griefs. Nobody else is hunting for a chance to invest in them.”
“What's a friend for?” Jeff wanted to know gently.