It's what Coonrod 'd do, if he was here.

I don't feel any hardness to him because it was him that got Coonrod killed, as you might say, in one sense of the term; but I've tried to think it out, and I feel like I was all the more beholden to him because my son died tryin' to save him.
Whatever I do, I'll be doin' it for Coonrod, and that's enough for me." He seemed to have finished, and he turned to March as if to hear what he had to say.
March hesitated.

"I'm afraid, Mr.Dryfoos--Didn't Fulkerson tell you that Lindau was very sick ?" "Yes, of course.

But he's all right, he said." Now it had to come, though the fact had been latterly playing fast and loose with March's consciousness.

Something almost made him smile; the willingness he had once felt to give this old man pain; then he consoled himself by thinking that at least he was not obliged to meet Dryfoos's wish to make atonement with the fact that Lindau had renounced him, and would on no terms work for such a man as he, or suffer any kindness from him.