"Will it? Look here. I've been waiting for that." From his inside coat-pocket Necker drew out several typewritten sheets. "Mind you, I didn't want to produce this, but I'm forced to. My first interests are my company's. There is a copy of the last official report on this work. Read what that says. The credit is given, you see, to who? To you? No, no. Not a mention of you except as a civilian engineer who assisted." "But how did you get hold of this?" Welkie held the papers, but without showing any inclination to read them. "Does how I got hold of it matter?" "That's right, it doesn't matter." Welkie offered the papers to Balfe. Balfe waved them back. "I saw the original of that report in Washington. What Mr. Necker says is so." "There!" Necker brought his fist down on the table. "The man of all others to bear me out." He stepped close to Balfe. "I couldn't place you for a while. Thanks for that." "Don't hurry your credit slip," snapped Balfe, with his eyes on Welkie. Welkie silently passed the papers back to Necker. "You believe me now, Mr. Welkie?" "I don't know's I doubted you, Mr. Necker. It caught me just a mite below the belt, and I had to spar for wind." "But it wasn't I who hit you below the belt, remember. Neither did I want to destroy your illusions, but I did want to show you the facts--the truth, not the glittering romance, of life. Now they're offering you another job. Will you, or somebody else, get the credit for that? You? No, sir! You'll get neither money nor reputation out of it. With us you'd get both." "Probably that's so." Welkie spoke slowly. "But people in general will credit me with loyalty at least." "Will they? Even where they know of your work, will they? When a man turns down an offer like ours, people in general will give him credit for little besides simple innocence. I'm telling you they'll be more likely to think you are controlled by some queer primitive instinct which will not allow you to properly value things. I'll leave it to your friend. What do you say to that, Mr. Balfe?" "I think you're a good deal right." "There! Your own friend agrees with me!" exclaimed Necker. "You don't think that, Andie?" Welkie, puzzled, stared at Balfe. "What I mean, Greg, and what Mr. Necker very well understands me to mean, is that surely there are hordes of people who never will believe that any man did anything without a selfish motive." "That don't seem right, Andie." "No, it doesn't, but it's so, Greg. But"--he set his jaw at Necker--"what if they do think so? Let them. Let them ride hogback through the mud if they will. Oceans of other people, oceans, will still be looking up to men like Greg Welkie here." He rested his hand on his friend's shoulder. "You stick to your aeroplaning in the high air, Greg." "And chance a fall?" suggested Necker. "And chance a fall!" snapped Balfe. "But there are no falls if the machine is built right and the aviator forgets the applause."