"The trouble with you, Grant, is you've never lived a human life.

You've always been sheltered and pampered, lifted in and out of bed by valets, had a suit of clothes for every hour in the day.

I don't see how it is I happen to like you." And in Craig's face and voice there was frankly the condescension of superior to undoubted inferior.
Arkwright seemed to be wavering between resentment and amused disdain.
Then he remembered the circumstances of their first acquaintance--those frightful days in the Arizona desert, without food, with almost no water, and how this man had been absolute ruler of the party of lost and dying men; how he had forced them to march on and on, with entreaties, with curses, with blows finally; how he had brought them to safety--all as a matter of course, without any vanity or boasting--had been leader by divine right of strength of body and soul.

Grant turned his eyes from Craig, for there were tears in them.

"I don't see why you like me, either, Josh," said he.