The question of how he managed might have been better understood by any one who had chanced to overhear a conversation between Jack and Dr. Wilson, which took place just before luncheon that day. Dr. Wilson was chairman of the board of managers of the club. He was a man who had come into the club chiefly as the husband of Mrs. Chauncy Wilson, a lady whose stud was one of the finest in the state, and he was somewhat looked down upon by the men of genuine old family. He was good-humored, however; shrewd if a little unrefined; and he had been rich long enough to carry the burden of his wife's enormous fortune without undue self-consequence. To-day it became his duty to talk to Jack on an unpleasant matter of business.
"Jack," he said, "I've got to pitch into you again."
"The same old thing, I suppose."
"Same old thing. Sometimes I've half a mind to resign from the club, so as to get rid of having to drub you fellows about your bills."
Jack gnawed his mustache, twisting his cigar in his fingers in a way that threatened to demolish it altogether.
"I've told you already that I can't do anything until—"
"Oh, I know it," Wilson broke in. "I'm satisfied, but the committee is getting scared. The finances of the club are in an awful mess; there's no denying that. Some of the men on the committee, you see, are afraid of being blamed for letting the credits run on so."
Jack did not take advantage of the pause which gave him an opportunity to speak, and the other went on again.
"I'm awfully sorry, old man; but there's got to be an end somewhere, and nobody's been given the rope that you have."
"I can resign, of course," Jack said shortly.