"Take a seat," said Deane. "You don't look fit to stand. What can I do for you? We shall be interrupted in a few moments."
"I want something to do," Rowan said.
"I can't give it to you," answered Deane, firmly but not unkindly.
"You don't beat about the bush," the other declared, with a hard little laugh.
"Why should I?" Deane asked. "It would only waste our time, and be, after all, a mistaken kindness. There isn't a man about my place who hasn't grown up under my own personal observation. It's an important business this, Rowan. I daren't risk a single weak link. To be frank with you,—and you see I am being frank,—I'd sooner pay your salary than have you here."
"Give me a letter to someone else, then," Rowan begged. "I'm just back from Africa, broken."
"I can't do that," Deane answered. "I know you well. I like you. We have been friends. We have been together in difficulties. More than once you have been in a way useful to me. I have every disposition to serve you. But you were never made for business, or any form of regular work. I would not offer you a place in my own office, and I cannot pass you on to my friends. What else can I do for you?"
Rowan looked into his hat, and laughed a little bitterly. "What the devil else is there anyone can do for me?" he demanded.
"I can lend you some money," Deane said shortly.
"I shall take it," Rowan answered; "but it will be spent pretty soon, and I doubt whether you'll ever get it back. I want a chance to make a fresh start."