“Because, as I said that night when you came to hunt me up, I can’t take anybody’s charity.”
“Poor but proud, eh?” said Larry, knowing well enough that he would have felt exactly the same way in Purdick’s place.
“You can call it that if you want to; I guess it’s the truth. But I want to know; I’ve got to know.”
“I’ll tell you all I can—which isn’t so very much,” Larry temporized. “The money was given to one of the fellows here to—er—do as he pleased with. He didn’t need it for himself, so he took a notion to give it to you—lend it to you, if you’d rather have it that way. Only instead of paying it back to him, he wants you to boost some other fellow, by and by, when you’re able to do it.”
“That’s all right, as far as it goes. But who is the fellow?”
“I can’t tell you. I’ve promised.”
Little Purdick twisted himself in his chair and seemed to be looking out of the window, though the panes presented nothing but a blank wall of darkness. Finally he said:
“I guess I’m up against it pretty hard, Donnie.”
“How so?”
“Can’t you see? You know the way I’ve always talked; what I’ve been thinking and saying about rich people. Nobody but some one of the rich fellows could do what’s been done to me. Can I take a bone that’s been thrown to a dog?”