“This is for you,” said I, handing him his letter; and told him how it came to him thus.
“It’s from Helena—dear old girl, isn’t she a trump, after all!” he said, tearing open the letter and glancing at it.
“She is a dear girl, Mr. Davidson,” said I, stiffly, “yes.”
“Why, of course—yes, of course I’d have done it, if I’d got this before I left the city,” said he, “but how can I now?”—holding the letter open in his hand.
“Do you mean to tell me,” I began, but choked in anger mixed with uncertainty. What was it she had asked of him, offered to him? And was not Helena’s wish a command.
“Yes, I mean to tell you or any one else, I’d do a favor to a lady if I could; but——”
“What favor, Mr. Davidson?” I demanded icily.
“Well, why ‘Mr. Davidson’? Ain’t I your pal, in spite of all the muss you made of my plans? Why, I’m damned if I’ll pay you the charter money at all, after the way you’ve acted, and all——”
“Mr. Davidson, damn the charter money!”
“That’s what I say! What’s charter money among friends? All right, if you can forgive half the charter fee, I’ll forgive the other half, and——”