God's sake, drop that preaching. It makes me sick!" broke out
Newmark.

Orde smiled whimsically.

"I'm not preaching," he said; "and even if I were, I've paid a good
many thousands of dollars, it seems, to buy the right to say what I
damn please. And if you think I'm working up to a Christian forgiveness
racket, you're very much mistaken. I'm not. I don't forgive you; and I
surely despise your sort. But I'm explaining to you--no, to myself--just
what I've been at for three days."

"Well, turn me over to your sheriff, and let's get through with this,"
said Newmark sullenly. "I suppose you've got that part of it all fixed."

Orde rose.

"Look here, Newmark, that's just what I've been coming to, just what
I've had such a hard time to get hold of. I felt it, but I couldn't
put my finger on it. Now I know. I'm not going to hand you over to any
sheriff; I'm going to let you off. No," he continued, in response to
Newmark's look of incredulous amazement, "it isn't from any fool notion
of forgiveness. I told you I didn't forgive you. But I'm not going to
burden my future life with you. That's just plain, ordinary selfishness.
I suppose I really ought to jug you; but if I do, I'll always carry with
me the thought that I've taken it on myself to judge a man. And I don't
believe any man is competent to judge another. I told you why--or tried
to--a minute or so ago. I've lived clean, and I've enjoyed the world
as a clean open-air sort of proposition--like a windy day--and I always
hope to. I'd rather drop this whole matter. In a short time I'd forget
you; you'd pass out of my life entirely. But if we carry this thing
through to a finish, I'd always have the thought with me that I'd put
you in the pen; that you are there now. I don't like the notion. I'd
rather finish this up right here and now and get it over and done with
and take a fresh start." He paused and wiped his brow, wet with the
unusual exertion of this self-analysis. "I think a fellow ought to act
always as if he was making the world. He ought to try not to put things
in it that are going to make it an unpleasant or an evil world. We
don't always do it; but we ought to try. Now if I were making a world, I
wouldn't put a man in a penitentiary in it. Of course there's dangerous
criminals." He glanced at Newmark a little anxiously. "I don't believe
you're that. You're sharp and dishonest, and need punishment; but you
don't need extinction. Anyway, I'm not going to both