Well, I don't believe you will either."
"You're a great painter, Hunt, and a great cook--but I don't give a
damn what you believe."
"Keep your shirt on, young fellow," Hunt responded, puffing
imperturbably. "I say I believe you won't win out--but that's not
saying I don't want you to win out. If that's what you want to do, go
to it, and may luck be with you, and may the devil stay in hell. The
morals of other people are out of my line--none of my business. I'm a
painter, and it's my business to paint people as I find them. But
Maggie certainly did put her finger on the tough spot in your
proposition: for a crook to find a job and win the confidence of
people. It's up grade all the way, and it takes ten men's nerve to
stick it out to the top. Yep, Maggie was sure right!"
And then the Duchess broke her accustomed silence with her thin croak:
"Never you mind Maggie! She thinks she knows everything, but she
doesn't know anything."
Larry looked in surprise at his grandmother. There was a flash in her
old eyes; but the next moment the spark was gone.
"Sure you're up against it--but I'll be rooting for you." Hunt was
grinning. "But say, young fellow, what made you decide to vote the
other ticket?"
Larry was trained at reading faces; and in the rough-hewn, grinning
features of Hunt he read good-fellowship.
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