boe watched the revealing expression of the old man's face and the
motions of his body. He noticed that the tight grip of the hand on the
little statue of the riverman had made the fingers pale. He realized how
absorbed was the lumber-king, who had given him more confidence than
he had given to anyone else in the world. As near as he could come to
anyone, he had come to John Grier. There had been differences between
them, but he, Tarboe, fought for his own idea, and, in nine cases out
of ten, had conquered. John Grier had even treated Tarboe's solutions
as though they were his own. He had a weird faith in the young giant. He
saw now Tarboe's eyes fixed on his fingers, and he released his grip.

"That's the thing between him and me, Tarboe," he said, nodding towards
the virile bronze. "Think of my son doing that when he could do all
this!" He swept his arm in a great circle which included the horizon
beyond the doors and the windows. "It beats me, and because it beats me,
and because he defies me, I've made up my mind what to do."

"Don't do anything you'd be sorry for, boss. He ain't a fool because
he's not what you are." He nodded towards the statue. "You think that's
pottering. I think it's good stuff. It will last, perhaps, when what you
and I do is forgotten."

There was something big and moving in Tarboe. He was a contradiction. A
lover of life, he was also reckless in how he got what he wanted. If it
could not be got by the straight means, then it must be by the crooked,
and that was where he and Grier lay down together, as it were. Yet
he had some knowledge that was denied to John Grier. The soul of the
greater things was in him.

"Give the boy a chance to work out his life in his own way," he said
manfully. "You gave him a chance to do it in your way, and you were
turned down. Have faith in him. He'll probably come out all right in the
end.

"You mean he'll come my way?" asked the old man almost rabidly. "You
mean he'll do the things I want him to do here, as you've done?"

"I guess so," answered Tarboe, but without conviction in his tone. "I'm
not sure whether it will be like that or not, but I know you've got a
son as honest as the stars, and the honest man gets his own in the end."

There was silence for some time, then the old man began walking up and
down the room, softly, noiselessly.

"You talk sense," he said. "I care for that boy, but I care for my
life's work more. Day in, day out, night in, ni