"I thought you were badly hurt," said Alan. "Nasty knife wound you got."
Rossland shrugged his shoulders. "There you have it again, Holt--the
hell of letting a pretty face run away with you. One of the Thlinkit
girls down in the steerage, you know. Lovely little thing, wasn't she?
Tricked her into my cabin all right, but she wasn't like some other
Indian girls I've known. The next night a brother, or sweetheart, or
whoever it was got me through the open port. It wasn't bad. I was out of
the hospital within a week. Lucky I was put there, too. Otherwise I
wouldn't have seen Mrs. Graham one morning--through the window. What a
little our fortunes hang to at times, eh? If it hadn't been for the girl
and the knife and the hospital, I wouldn't be here now, and Graham
wouldn't be bleeding his heart out with impatience--and you, Holt,
wouldn't be facing the biggest opportunity that will ever come into
your life."
"I'm afraid I don't understand," said Alan, hiding his face in the
smoke of his cigar and speaking with an apparent indifference which had
its effect upon Rossland. "Your presence inclines me to believe that
luck has rather turned against me. Where can my advantage be?"
A grim seriousness settled in Rossland's eyes, and his voice became cool
and hard. "Holt, as two men who are not afraid to meet unusual
situations, we may as well call a spade a spade in this matter, don't
you think so?"
"Decidedly," said Alan.
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