His docility, as I sat thinking of that odious and flamboyant type of she-harpy, began to irritate me.
"But why should it end here?" I demanded.
"Because I put twenty thousand dollars of other people's money into a phony game, and lost it."
"Well, what of it?"
"Do you suppose I could go home with that hanging over me?"
"Supposing you can't. Is that any reason why you should lie down at this stage of the game?"
"But I've lost," he averred. "Everything's gone!"
"'All is not lost,'" I quoted, feeling very much like Francis the First after the Battle of Pavia, "'till honor's self is gone!'"
"But even that's gone," was his listless retort. He looked up, almost angrily, at my movement of impatience. "Well, what would you do about it?" he challenged.
"I'd get that money back or I'd get that gang behind the bars," was the answer I flung out at him. "I'd fight them to a finish."