There was a long pause after Ezram's voice had died away. Ben's eyes
glowed in the moonlight.
"And you haven't heard--whether your brother is still alive?"
"I got a wire the hotel man sent me. It reached me weeks before the
letter came, and I guess he must have died soon after he wrote it. I
suppose you see what he means when he says to carry a copy of this
letter, instead of the original."
"Of course--because it constitutes his will, your legal claim. Just the
fact that you are his brother would be claim enough, I should think, but
since the claim isn't recorded, this simplifies matters for you. You'd
better make a copy of it and you can leave it in some safe place. And of
course this claim is what you offered to let me in on."
"That's it. Not much, but all what I got. What I want to know is--if
it's a go."
"Wait just a minute. You've asked me to go in with you on a scheme that
looks like a clear quarter of a million, even though I can't give
anything except my time and my work. You found me in a penitentiary,
busted and all in--a thief and a gangster. Before we go any further,
tell me what service I've done you, what obligation you're under to me,
that gives me a right to accept so much from you?"
It might have been in the moonlight that Ezram's eyes glittered
perceptibly. "You're in my charge," he grinned. "I guess you ain't got
any say comin'."
"Wait--wait." Ben sprang to his feet, and caught by his earnestness,
Ezram got up too. "I sure--I sure appreciate the trust you put in me,"
Ben went on slowly. "For my own part I'd give everything I've got and
all I'd hope to ever get to go with you. It's a chance such as I never
dared believe would come to me again--a chance for big success--a chance
to go away and get a new start in a country where I feel, instinctively,
that I'd make good. But that's only the beginning of it."
The dark vivid eyes seemed to glow in the soft light. "Forgive me if I
talk frank; and if it sounds silly I can't help it," Ben continued.
"You've never been in prison--with a five-year sentence hanging over
you--and nobody giving a damn. For some reason I can't guess you've
already done more for me than I can ever hope to repay. You got me out
of prison, you wakened hope and self-respect in me when I thought they
were dead, and you've proved a friend when I'd given up any thought of
ever knowing human friendship again. I was down and out, Ezram. Anything
you want me to do I'll do to the last ditch. You know I can fight--you
know how a man can fight if it's his last chance. I've got some bonus
money coming to me from the Canadian Government--and I'll put that in
too, because we'll be needing horses and supplies and things that cost
money. But I can't take all that from a stranger. You must know how it
is. A man can't, while he's young and strong, accept charity--"
"Good Lord, it ain't charity!" the old man shouted, drowning him out.
"I'm gettin' as much pleasure out of it as you." His voice sank again;
and there was no line of mirth in his face.
"It was long ago, in Montreal," Ezram went on, after a pause. "I knew
your mother, as a girl. She married a better man, but I told her that
every wish of hers was law to me. You're her son."