You've
done well, you say?"
Harber nodded.
"Well, so should I have, if the cursed fever had let me alone. In
another year or so I'd have been raking in the coin. And now here I
am--busted--done--;--_fini_, as the French say. I burned the candle
at both ends--and got just what was coming to me, I suppose. But how
_could_ I let go, just when everything was coming my way?"
"I know," said Harber. "But unless you can use it----"
"You're right there. Not much in it for me now. Still, the medicos
say a cold winter back home will.... I don't know. Sometimes I don't
think I'll last to....
"Where's the use, you ask, Harber? You ask me right now, and I can't
tell you. But if you'd asked me before I got like this, I could have
told you quick enough. With some men, I suppose, it's just an
acquisitive nature. With me, that didn't cut any figure. With me, it
was a girl. I wanted to make the most I could for her in the
shortest time. A girl ... well...."
Harber nodded. "I understand. I came out for precisely the same
reason myself," he remarked.
"You did?" said Barton, looking at him sadly. "Well, luck was with
you, then. You look so--so damned fit! You can go back to her ...
while I ... ain't it hell? Ain't it?" he demanded fiercely.
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