"You don't mean because of----"
"You? Exactly. Aren't we friends--the best of friends--Essie Tisdale?"
The quick tears filled her eyes.
"Sometimes," she answered chokingly, "I think you are my only friend."
She continued, "And that's the reason I want you to be careful. Don't
resent anything on my account----"
"That's the privilege of friendship," he answered with a reassuring
smile. "But why be careful--of whom?" There was some curtness in his
voice. "Symes?"
"Yes--of Symes."
"And why Symes?"
"You must remember that you are in a country where the people are poor
and struggling. Money is power, and influence, and friends. He has all,
and we have neither. I appreciate your reasons, and am more grateful
than I can tell you, but you would only hurt yourself, and Andy P. Symes
cannot be--reached; is that the word?"
Van Lennop's lips twitched ever so slightly and he turned his head away
that she might not see the betraying twinkle which he felt was in his
eyes. When his face was quite grave again, he replied--
"Yes, 'reached' is the word, but there are few of us who cannot be
reached when it comes to that, for somewhere there is some one who has
the 'long arm.'" Once more the shadow of a smile rested upon his lips.
"I still believe that Andy P. Symes might be 'reached.'"
"But," she argued, "it is his privilege to withdraw his friendship, if
he likes."
"But not his privilege to treat you with disrespect--to insult you both
openly and covertly. I like fair play, and Symes fights with a woman's
weapons. Listen, Essie Tisdale. I mean from now on to wear your colors
in the arena where _men_ fight--the arena where I have moderately
indulged my combative proclivities with the weapons I know best how to
use--the arena where there is no quarter given or received. The most
satisfying retaliation is to make money out of your enemies. Concentrate
your energy; don't waste it in words. Allow me to add to my income."
He concluded with a whimsical smile, but she had been studying his face
wonderingly as he talked, for it wore an expression which was new to
her. The keen, worldly look of a man of affairs when his mind reverts to
business had come into his eyes and his voice was curt, assured,
containing the unconscious authority of one who knows his power.
Essie Tisdale's knowledge of the world was too limited for her to
entirely grasp the significance of his words; she felt, rather, the
chivalry which inspired them, that spirit of defence of the weaker which
lies close to the surface in all good men.
She put out her hand with a gesture of protest.
"Don't antagonize him. Your friendship and your sympathy are enough. To
know that you are too big, too strong, to be influenced by the reasons
which have made cowards of those upon whom I counted, is all I want. You
can't tell to what lengths these people here will go when their private
interests are attacked, and that is what Andy P. Symes represents to
them."
"You are not very complimentary," he laughed. "You don't think highly of
my ability, I'm afraid. What you tell me is not news. Self-interest is
the controlling factor in the affairs of human life. I've learned this
largely by having my cuticle removed in many quarters of the globe. The
methods here are rather raw and shameless, also more novel and
picturesque. We accomplish the same result with more finesse in the
East."
"I wasn't thinking of your ability, but of your safety," she said
quickly. "I know this world out here as you know yours, and----"
"Remember this, Essie Tisdale," he interrupted, and unexpectedly he
leaned and laid his gloved hand upon her fingers as they rested on the
saddle horn, "whatever I may do, I do of my own volition, freely,
gladly--yes, eagerly."