I, too, am learning. There was a coster who
let me off arrest. Did I tell you about him? I forget. The reason he
gave taught me a lot, 'You and me was pals out there.' And you and I
were pals out there, Braithwaite--not master and man or junior and
senior officer. It would be a burning shame if, now that the war's
ended, we should fall to squabbling among ourselves."

"And yet the fact remains," said Braithwaite, "that I, who used to be
your servant, have cut you out of Terry. How are we going to remain pals
in a case like that?"

Tabs flinched at the bluntness of the words, "cut you out of Terry." For
a moment he felt inclined to say right out, "You're mistaken. She's sent
me to get her promise back." Instead he said, "How are we going to
remain pals! That's what I'm here to talk about. I've made up my mind
how I'm going to act. It's about you that I'm concerned. I'm jealous for
you, Braithwaite. I'm proud of the fact that, whatever you are to-day,
you were once my man--my man in the old clan sense. I want to see you
carry yourself as bravely in your new fight as you did in the one that's
ended. I think of the two this peace fight will be the more difficult
test, especially for men like yourself. I lost caste during the war,
while for you it proved a social opportunity. Now that we're back at
peace, the process is likely to be reversed. The qualities which gave
you high rank in a world at war won't fetch the same market value.
You'll have to fight afresh--only this time it'll be against the
temptation to sink below your own high standards through bitterness. In
a General's uniform you could go anywhere. It was your passport. No one
made enquiries. Once you're demobilized, the world asks for other
credentials--credentials as to your profession, bank-account, friends,
birth. What I'm trying to say is this: there's nothing dishonorable in
your past save your own assumption that it was dishonorable. And I want
to assure you that it isn't my purpose to drag you down. I couldn't.
There's only one man who can do that--yourself. But _you_ can drag
yourself below anything that you were if you go on refusing to play
fair."

Braithwaite's face went white beneath its tan. He fell to stroking his
mustache. "You take a lot upon yourself. It's the first time that I've
ever been accused of not playing fair."

"But _I_ accuse you of it." Tabs spoke with an equal quietness. To any
one watching they would have appeared to be two hand