No one else had ever had faith in him, and so it was a new
experience and one that must be thoroughly pondered if he was to enjoy
it. And that he was enjoying it was apparent. Though he faced the Red
Dog Saloon he did not see it. He kept seeing Betty as she looked after
she had given him the money. "I know you will do the right thing," she
had said, or something very like that. It made no difference what her
words had been. What she meant was that she had faith in him. And her
eyes had said that she expected him to justify that faith.
But would he? He didn't know. For the first time in his life he was
afflicted with indecision over the possession of money. In the old
days--the Durango days--which now seemed to be far behind him, the
thousand dollars in his pocket would have served to finance a brief
holiday of license and drinking and reckless play with gambling
devices. But now it was different--something within him had called--or
was calling--a halt. He told himself that it was because he had a
curiosity to follow this strange, freakish plan of Betty's to the end.
Some other emotion was calling just as strongly for him to do with the
money as he had always done with money. And so indecision afflicted
him. Humor likewise. He rarely felt in this mood. Not for years had
he felt like laughing.
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