“Sir, you may not know I—I lost some one—very dear to me. After that I didn’t seem to care.” Neale turned to the window. He was ashamed of what blurred his eyes. “If it hadn’t been for that—I’d never have failed you.”
The chief strode to Neale and put a hand on his shoulder. “Son, I believe you. Maybe I’ve been a little hard. Let’s forget it.” His tone softened and there was a close pressure of his hand. “The thing is now—will you come back on the job?”
“Baxter’s note—Campbell said they’d struck a snag here. You mean help them get by that?”
“Snag! I guess it is a snag. It bids fair to make all our labor and millions of dollars—wasted.... But I’m not asking you to come back just to help us over this snag. I mean will you come back for good—and stick?”
Neale was lifted out of the gloom into which memory had plunged him. He turned to his chief and found him another person. There was a light on his face and eagerness on his lips, and the keen, stern eyes were soft.
“Son, will you come back—stand by me till the finish?” repeated General Lodge, his voice deep and full. There was more here than just the relation of employer to his lieutenant.
“Yes, sir, I’ll come back,” replied Neale, in low voice.
Their hands met.
“Good!” exclaimed the chief.
Then he deliberately took out his watch and studied it. His hand trembled slightly. He did not raise his eyes again to Neale’s face.