"I said I'd cheer you up," he went on. "I don't want to remind you of that little matter of two hundred and fifty bucks which you borrowed from me two years ago. I suppose you've forgotten it, but——"
A look of annoyance came over Underwood's face.
"Well, what of it?" he snapped.
Howard took another drink before he continued.
"I wouldn't remind you of the loan, old chap; but I'm up against it. When the family kicked me out for marrying the finest girl that ever lived, my father cut me off with a piking allowance which I told him to put in the church plate. I told him I preferred independence. Well," he went on with serio-comic gravity, "I got my independence, but I'm—I'm dead broke. You might as well understand the situation plainly. I can't find any business that I'm fitted for, and Annie threatens to go back to work. Now, you know I can't stand for anything like that. I'm too much of a man to be supported by any woman."
He looked toward Underwood in a stupid kind of way, as if looking for some sign of approval, but he was disappointed. Underwood's face was a study of supreme indifference. He did not even appear to be listening. Somewhat disconcerted, Howard again raised the glass to his lips, and thus refreshed, went on:
"Then I thought of you, old chap. You've made a rousing success of it—got a big name as art collector—made lots of money and all that——"
Underwood impatiently interrupted him.
"It's impossible, Jeffries. Things are a little hard with me, too, just now. You'll have to wait for that $250."
Howard grinned.