‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I appreciate that, but I can’t take money from you. I guess I am a mug, but that’s the way it is. I don’t suppose you’l understand, but I must stand on my own feet. I can’t see you borrowing money if you were in a jam. You would want to be independent. Well, I guess I’m like that, too.’
He studied her.
‘But if a guy owes me something, I’d expect to be paid,’ he said. ‘And I owe you plenty.’
‘Can’t you forget that? It just happened you were lucky to come here. I would have done the same for anyone else. I always side with the one against many. It’s the way I’m made.’
He didn’t like that. He had hoped that she had helped him because of himself, not because of some cock-eyed kink about helping one against many. His expression changed, and his eyes became hostile.
‘You can’t expect me to keep on begging you to take the dough,’ he said roughly. ‘If that’s the way you feel about it…’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you. I do appreciate…’
‘Ah, the hel with it!’ he said in disgust, and got to his feet. What had promised to be a pleasant and unusual evening was turning sour. He stood staring at her, then blurted out, ‘I don’t mean a thing to you, do I?’
He could read the answer in her surprised expression. The idea of caring for him had never entered her head.
‘Why…’ she began, and stopped.