"You know how long I've been waiting for one to come along, Chub," he went on, almost hoarsely. "You know how I've looked for the man who could do what none of the others have done yet, even though he is only a second-rater. Twice I thought I had a newcomer who could put The Red away--and put him away for keeps--and I just fooled myself because I was so anxious to believe. I've grown a trifle wary, Chub, just a trifle! Now, I'd like to hear you talk!" Morehouse sat and fingered that card for a long time in absolute silence--a silence that was heavy with embarrassment on his part. He understood, without need of explanation, for whom that chill hatred glowed in the spare ex-lightweight's eyes--knew the full reason for it. And because he knew Hogarty, too, as few men had ever come to know him, he had often assured himself that he was thankful not to be the man who had earned it. That knowledge had been very vividly present when, a few days before, on the platform of the Boltonwood station, he had requested Denny Bolton to give him back his card for a moment, after listening to the boy's grave explanation of the raw wound across his cheek, and on a quite momentary impulse written across its back that short sentence which was so meaty with meaning. Every detail of Hogarty's country-wide search for a man who could whip Jed The Red was an open secret, so far as he was concerned; he was familiar with all the bitterness of every fresh disappointment, but he had never seen Hogarty's face so alive with exultant hope as it was at that moment. And Morehouse was embarrassed and sorry, and ashamed, too, of what seemed now must have been a weak surrender to an impulse which, after all, could have been born of nothing but a too keen sense of humor. Hogarty's face was more than eager. It was white and strained. "Flash," he began at last, ludicrously uncomfortable, "Flash, I'm sorry I wrote this, for I always told you that if I ever did send any one to you he'd be a live one and worth your trouble. Right this minute I can't tell why I did it, either, unless I am one of those naturally dangerous idiots with a perverted sense of what is really funny. Or maybe I didn't believe he'd ever get any farther from home than he was that morning when I gave him this card. That must have been it, I suppose. Because I never saw him in action. Why, I never so much as saw him kick a dog! "I'm telling you because I don't want you to be disappointed again--and yet I have to tell you, too, that right at the time I wrote this stuff, Flash, just for a minute or two, I believe I did almost think he might be an answer to your riddle. Maybe that was because he had already licked Jed The Red once, and I should judge, made a very thorough job of it at that. That must have influenced me some. But let me tell you all the story and maybe you'll understand a little better--something that I can't say for myself right at this very instant."