“Wait till you’re asked. I’ve got my own quarters.”
“Where?”
“Find out if you can. I keep my private burrow secret.”
“Well, it’s all very queer, but I suppose you know your own business best.”
“Naturally,” he said, and sat frowning at me a little while.
Then presently he rose and came and looked down upon me.
“Renny,” he said, quietly, “I’m going now, but I shall look you up from time to time. I just want to say a thing first, though. You haven’t received me very well, and I shan’t forget it. There’s a new manner about you that’s prettier than it’s quite safe. You seem to have thought matters over and to have come to the conclusion that this lapse of years has tided you over a little difficulty we remember. I only want to suggest that you don’t presume upon that too far. Grant it to be true, as old Crackenthorpe said, that that fellow Muller’s fate isn’t likely to be yours. I can make things pretty hot for you, nevertheless.”
He nodded at me once or twice, with his lips set, and so walked from the room.
For an hour after he had gone, regardless of the calls of business, I sat on by the window pondering the meaning of this down-swoop and its likely influence on my fortunes.
The nervous apprehension of boyhood had left me; I had carved out an independent path for myself and had prospered. Was it likely that, thus restored, as it were, to manliness, I could weakly succumb to a sense of fatality? I was stronger by nature and experience than this blackest of blackmailers. He who takes his moral fiber from humanity must necessarily surpass the egotist who habitually drains upon himself.