“No siree! Can’t you get anything straight? I’m cookee. Know what that is? Cook’s helper. Or, rather, I was. I’ve quit the job. I’m moving on.”
“You’re running again—from us!”
“I’m running from nobody. But I don’t choose to stay where a lot of prying sneaks are butting in.”
Sam took another step. This proffering of the amende honorable was proving to be even more difficult than he had feared, but he kept himself in hand.
“Orkney,” he said earnestly, “you’ve got to hear me. The other day I charged you with a lot of rascality. I was mistaken. I take back what I said. Then, like everybody else, I thought you as good as shoved Little Perrine into the pond. That was another mistake; I’m sorry for it.”
Orkney was more puzzled than pleased. “Eh? Sorry, are you? Well, if you want to apologize——”
“Apologize” is a word which, sometimes, grates on the ear. Sam flushed.
“Go slow there!” he said sharply; then, with a change of tone, went on: “If I’m apologizing, it’s for the things I did because I was fooled, deceived. And the club are with me in this. But I’m not apologizing, and they’re not apologizing for thinking you a grouchy sorehead. You’ve made your own troubles, mostly. We’ll let that pass, though. I’m not here to call you names; I’m here to tell you that, if you’d stuck it out and not run away, things would have cleared up for you. As it is, we’re ready to do what we can for you if you’ll come back. We’ll spread the truth. You can make a fresh start.”
“With the help of your bunch! I see myself doing it!”
“Look at the case fairly. We came here in the hope of finding you. We came to make the offer.”