“Stay half a moment,” he said, speaking very softly, and laying his hand upon my arm, “I will not detain you a minute.”
“There is no hurry in life,” I said.
“You promised me just now you would assist me.”
“If it be in my power, I will.”
“Before we part at Alexandria I will endeavour to tell you the story of my troubles, and then if you can aid me—” It struck me as he paused that I had made a rash promise, but nevertheless I must stand by it now—with one or two provisoes. The chances were that the young man was short of money, or else that he had got into a scrape about a girl. In either case I might give him some slight assistance; but, then, it behoved me to make him understand that I would not consent to become a participator in mischief. I was too old to get my head willingly into a scrape, and this I must endeavour to make him understand.
“I will, if it be in my power,” I said. “I will ask no questions now; but if your trouble be about some lady—”
“It is not,” said he.
“Well; so be it. Of all troubles those are the most troublesome. If you are short of cash—”
“No, I am not short of cash.”
“You are not. That’s well too; for want of money is a sore trouble also.” And then I paused before I came to the point. “I do not suspect anything bad of you, Smith. Had I done so, I should not have spoken as I have done. And if there be nothing bad—”