"I say war, and without quarter. I don't believe
you can beat me. I defy you to the test. And if you should--even then I had
rather go down fighting you than win at your side."
Simon Harley had counted acceptance a foregone conclusion, but he never
winked a lash at the ringing challenge of his opponent. He met his defiance
with an eye cold and steady as jade.
"As you please, Mr. Ridgway. I wash my hands of your ruin, and when you are
nothing but a broken gambler, you will remember that I offered you the
greatest chance that ever came to a man of your age. You are one of those
men, I see, that would rather be first in hell than second in heaven. So be
it." He rose and buttoned his overcoat.
"Say, rather, that I choose to go to hell my own master and not as the
slave of Simon Harley," retorted the Westerner bitterly.
Ridgway's eyes blazed, but those of the New Yorker were cool and fishy.
"There is no occasion for dramatics," he said, the cruel, passionless smile
at his thin lips. "I make you a business proposition and you decline it.
That is all. I wish you good day.
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