Down at the bunk-house she called me Ford twice--and she said it meant a lot to her, whether I make good or not.

I wonder--Lordy me! A man could make good, all right, and do it easy, if she cared! She doesn't know what to think--that jug staying right up to high-water mark, like that!" He laughed then, silently, and dwelt upon the picture she had made while she had stood there before the table.
"Lord! she'd want to kill me if she knew I hid in that closet, but I just had a hunch--that is, if she cared anything about it.

I wonder if she did really say she wished I'd killed Dick?
"Anyway, I can fight it now, with her keeping cases on the quiet.

I know I can fight it.

Lordy me, I've got to fight it! I've got to make good; that's all there is about it.