"How?" he asked, quite innocently.
"By throwing away your money among a lot of sharpies, who wouldn't lend you a copper to save your soul!"
Torrence roared, as if he thought it the best joke imaginable.
"Now, look here, old boy," he said in another minute, "don't lose your temper, because it doesn't pay. What's the use of money if not to give pleasure? That's my way of enjoying myself, and I don't either ask or expect any favors in return. As you see, it takes a lot of money to buy my pleasure, but I can afford it!"
"If you have such an income that you can't spend it," I replied, "suppose you give a little of it to me. You might be glad some day if you found that I had saved a few pounds for you!"
The speech would have been contemptible, considering the amount of money Torrence had already given me, were it not for the fact that I intended it for his good as well as my own, hoping to save at least a part of a fortune, which was being squandered so shamefully under my eyes.
"Why, certainly," he answered good naturedly, and half-rising from the lounge, "how much do you want?"
"Anything you have to spare!"
Without another word he got up, and going to the writing table, signed a blank check and handed it to me.
"There! fill it out for yourself!" he exclaimed.