John Grier does as much thinking in an hour as
most of us do in a month, and with Tarboe he'll beat you dead. Tarboe is
young; he's got the vitality of a rhinoceros. He knows the business from
the bark on the tree. He's a flyer, is Tarboe, and you might have been
in Tarboe's place and succeeded to the business."
Fabian threw out his arms. "But no! Father might live another ten
years--though I don't think so--and I couldn't have stood it. He was
lapping me in the mud."
"He doesn't lap Tarboe in the mud."
"No, and he wouldn't have lapped you in the mud, because you've got
imagination, and you think wide and long when you want to. But I'm
middle-class in business. I've got no genius for the game. He didn't
see my steady qualities were what was needed. He wanted me to be like
himself, an eagle, and I was only a robin red-breast."
Suddenly his eyes flashed and his teeth set. "You couldn't stand him,
wouldn't put up with his tyranny. You wanted to live your own life, and
you're doing it. When he bought me out, what was there for me to do but
go into the only business I knew, with the only big man in the business,
besides John Grier. I've as good blood as he's got in his veins. I do
business straight.
"He didn't want me to do it straight.
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