Tarboe understood that this young
man had a frankness dangerous to the business of life, yet which,
properly applied, might bring great results. He disliked Carnac for his
uncalculating candour; but he realized that, behind all, was something
disturbing to his life.
"It's a woman," Tarboe said to himself, "it's a woman. He's made a fool
of himself."
Tarboe was right. He had done what no one else had done--he had pierced
the cloud surrounding Carnac: it was a woman.
"I hear you're pulling things off here," remarked Carnac civilly. "He
says"--pointing to John Grier--"that you're making the enemy squirm."
Tarboe nodded, and a half-stealthy smile crept across his face. "I don't
think we've lost anything coming our way," he replied. "We've had good
luck--"
"And our eyes were open," intervened John Grier. "You push the brush and
use the chisel, don't you?" asked Tarboe in spite of himself with slight
scorn in his tone.
"I push the chisel and use the brush," answered Carnac, smilingly
correcting him.
"That's a good thing. Is it yours?" asked Tarboe, nodding and pointing
to the statue of the riverman. Carnac nodded. "Yes, I did that one day.
I'd like to do you, if you'd let me."
The young giant waved a brawny hand and laughed.
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