Nesbitt for a moment hesitated. There was something ominous in the cool courage of the older man. And before he could collect himself, Wingrave continued:—
“I presume,” he said, “that you chose your own profession. You knew quite well there was no place in it for men with a sense of the higher morality. It is a profession of gamblers and thieves. If you’d won, you’d have thought yourself a smart fellow and pocketed your winnings fast enough. Now that you’ve lost—don’t whine. You sat down willingly enough to play the game with me. Don’t call me names because you lost. This is no place for children. Pocket your defeat, and be more careful next time.”
Nesbitt was silent for a moment. Wingrave, cool and immovable, dominated him. He gave a little laugh, and turned towards the door.
“Guess you’re right,” he declared; “we’ll let it go at that.”
Aynesworth followed him from the room.
“I’m awfully glad you’re out of the scrape,” he said.
Nesbitt caught him by the arm.
“Come right along,” he said. “I haven’t had a drink in the daytime for a year, but we’re going to have a big one now. I say, do you know how I got that money?”
Aynesworth shook his head.
“On easy terms, I hope.”