“My name is Trask,” Philip cut in shortly.
“Well, then, my dear Trask, I have never learned how to do useful things. One has to learn, I believe, if it’s only washing dishes in a cheap restaurant, or chopping wood. I should inevitably break the dishes, or let the axe slip and chop my foot.”
Philip made a gesture of impatience.
“I had a proposal to make to you, but it seems that it’s no use. I am about to strike out for the mountains, to try my luck prospecting. A friend of yours, whom you have never seen or even heard of, suggested that you might want to go along—as my partner.”
Bromley straightened himself in his chair and the mocking smile died out of his boyish eyes.
“A friend of mine, you say? I had some friends while my thousand lasted, but I haven’t any now.”
“Yes, you have at least one; though, as I have said, you have never seen or heard of her.”
The play-boy sank back into the depths of his chair.
“Ah, I see; a woman, and you told her about me. Am I such an object of pity as that, Trask?”
Philip forgot his New England insularity for a moment and put his hand on the play-boy’s knee.