"
"Why do you think I ran you into Rio Janeiro?" said Greenfield,
twisting on the leaves. "Into the cholery? What do you think made me lay
for this desert? Bub, you were on my back, clinging like a catamount. I
was bound to shake you off. I was desperate. It had to end one way or
t'other. That's why I stuck to you until I thought it was over with
you."
"Why didn't you make sure of it?" said Frawley with curiosity; "you
could have done for me there."
Greenfield looked at him hard and nodded.
"Keerect, Bub; quite so!"
"Why didn't you?"
"Why!" cried Greenfield angrily. "Ain't you ever had any imagination?
Did I want to shoot you down like a common ordinary pickpocket after
taking you three times around the world? That was no ending! God, what a
chase it was!"
"It was long, Bucky," Frawley admitted. "It was a good one!"
"Can't you understand anything?" Greenfield cried querulously. "Where's
anything bigger, more than what we've done? And to have it end like
this--to have a bug--a miserable, squashy bug beat you after all!"
For a long moment there was no sound, while Greenfield lay, twisting,
his head averted, buried in the leaves.
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