keep on going, and I was by no means sure that I should be able to resist the temptation. So many others had failed. What if I wrote to Fox, and resigned? . . . Lea was deep in a manuscript once more.
"Shall I throw it up?" I asked suddenly. I wanted the thing settled.
"Oh, go on with it, by all means go on with it," Lea answered.
"And . . .?" I postulated.
"Take your chance of the rest," he supplied; "you've had a pretty bad time."
"I suppose," I reflected, "if I haven't got the strength of mind to get out of it in time, I'm not up to much."
"There's that, too," he commented, "the game may not be worth the candle." I was silent. "You must take your chance when you get it," he added.
He had resumed his reading, but he looked up again when I gave way, as I did after a moment's thought.
"Of course," he said, "it will probably be all right. You do your best. It's a good thing . . . might even do you good."
[77]
