Mr. Smith took a dozen twenty-dollar gold pieces out of his purse.
"Take these," he said.
"You will lend them to me?" cried Clarence, delightedly.
"I give them to you. What is the use of lending money to a pauper? I give this to you just as I would give an alms to a beggar."
"Your words are very bitter," said the young man, as he shivered visibly.
"There is no necessity for me to be silver-tongued with you," was the reply. "Go home to your wife. I will call and see you soon."
Mr. Smith threw himself into a chair, and appeared to take no further notice of Clarence, but he was seated in a manner which permitted him to have a good view of the gambling-table.
At first Clarence Holt hurried toward the door, as if full of virtuous resolution to return home.
Then he paused, and turned off toward the lunch table, where he ate a little salad and drank some wine.
The gold pieces were burning a hole in his pocket.