“Oh,” said Davis, with a grin; “the door slammed about then.”
Selden sat for a moment looking at him. Could this be the key to Myra Davis’s conduct? It fitted certainly, or seemed to—and yet....
“So, since I couldn’t get any sympathy at home, I came over here,” Davis concluded.
“Well, you are not going to get much here,” said Selden. “If you want to be treated like a man you’ve got to act like one, and a man doesn’t drink too much champagne whenever he gets the chance, nor fool away his time at a roulette table, nor live off of money somebody else has earned. I think it is a good thing your money is tied up—maybe you will have to go to work. And I’ll never ask your mother to turn it over to you—not till you have proved there is something in you. I might ask her to allow you something to live on till you can find a job, and I might point out to her that Miss Fayard is a darn sight too good for you, but not till you promise to brace up!”
Davis’s face had darkened a little at the beginning of this tirade, but it was radiant before Selden finished.
“I’ll do anything you say,” he protested. “I know I’ve been a good deal of a rotter. Just give me a chance!”
“All right,” said Selden. “That’s exactly what I’m proposing to do.”
“Then I’ll go tell Cicette it’s all settled,” and Davis jumped to his feet.
“How do you mean settled?” Selden demanded.
“I’m going to reform, and you’re going to see Mother. That’s the bargain, isn’t it?”