ton in those pipes, and the fellows have been lugging ’em downhill these six hours. We’re going back to paddock work again, you know.”
“There’s one good man in Argyle who’s been bred for drink, I’m thinking,” said Murray, irrelevantly.
Ormond’s palms ceased movement on the half-rubbed Navy-cut.
“Randal?”
Murray nodded.
“He’s driving Conroy’s coach since Scannell cleared him. But he won’t last long at that. If he’d only have the sense to cut the country-there might be a chance for him. But———”
“There are two ways of going through the world,” said Ormond, dogmatically. “The one is to know your own weakness and the other man’s strength. That gets you down every time. The other is to know your strength, and the other man’s weakness; and that gives you the pull as often as you want it. Unfortunately, Randal knows his weakness———”
“And the other man’s strength?”
“Precisely. The man in this case being———”
“Kiliat? Yes; I thought so.”
“Not that he has any strength of any kind,” explained Ormond, coming to his feet. “I fancy his nurse must have put him under a force-pump in his infancy, and drawn out all his brains to make pap of. But he has a certain
