"Possibly. But you're not the man to be
sure of it."
"I didn't mean it as bragging," cried Jack, flushing.
"Surely not," drawled Darrow, stretching out his long legs. "But no
man can tell whether or not he's game until he's tried out. That's no
reflection on him, either. I remember once I went through seeing my
best friend murdered; being shot at a dozen times myself as I climbed
a cliff; seeing a pirate ship destroyed with all on board, apparently
by the hand of Providence; escaping from a big volcanic bust-up into a
cave, and having the cave entrance drop down shut behind me. I was as
cool as a cucumber all through it. I remember congratulating myself
that, anyhow, I was going to die game."
"By Jove!" murmured Jack Warford, staring at him, fascinated. Evidently,
the super-beautiful garment had been forgotten.
"Then a war-ship's crew rescued me; and I broke down completely, and acted
like a silly ass. I wasn't game at all; I'd just managed to postpone
finding it out for a while."
"It was just the reaction!" cried Jack.
"Well, if that sort of reaction happens along before the trouble is all
over, it looks uncommonly like loss of nerve," Percy Darrow pointed out.
"No man knows whether or not he's game," he repeated. "However," he smiled
whimsically, "I imagine you're likely to postpone your reactions as well
as the next."
"What's up? What do you want me to do?"
"Stick by me; obey orders," said Darrow.
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