Carle greeted him with politeness and visible surprise; then waited to learn the reason of his visit. Rob also, suddenly confronted by the necessity of putting his plea into fitting words, stood for some seconds speechless, unable to think of any diplomatic way of broaching an unpleasant subject. The constraint at last grew too painful to be endured. Abandoning all hope of devising a proper opening, he held out Mr. Carle's letter and said: "Read it!"
In silence, but with flushed face and a defiant hardening at the corners of his mouth, as if he expected reproof, Ned took the letter and read it through. When he had finished, the flush was deeper, and anger as well as defiance displayed itself in his face.
"What does he want to write you all that stuff for! I don't see what business it is of yours."
"He seems to hold me responsible."
"The old man is all off; I should think you'd know enough to let the thing alone."
"But, Ned, he isn't all off," answered Rob, sailing blindly in. "He's wrong if he thinks you're following my lead, but he's right about the main thing. You're living the wrong kind of a life here. A fellow in your place can't run with the fast gang you're going with. You simply can't do it; you'll ruin yourself trying to."
"That's easy enough for you to say," retorted Carle, hotly, "when you can have whatever money you want, and aren't in with anybody. If you're in the swim you've got to spend something. My old man ought to have kept me at home if he didn't mean to give me what's necessary. I'm no long-haired grind."
"But he can't give you more; he says so in the letter. He hasn't it to give."
This was an unfortunate fact against which argument was as powerless as acid against oil.