Little hard lights came into his eyes and died.

“No,” he gulped. “I ain’t that kind of fellow. I never⁠—”

“You never did anything but let people gyp you. You don’t have to go up against him, MacSwain. Give me the dope, and I’ll make the play⁠—if it’s any good.”

He thought that over, licking his lips, letting the toothpick fall down to stick on his coat front.

“You wouldn’t let on about me having any part in it?” he asked. “I belong here, and I wouldn’t stand a chance if it got out. And you won’t turn him up? You’ll just use it to make him fight?”

“Right.”

He took my hand excitedly and demanded:

“Honest to God?”

“Honest to God.”