This reads rather pitiful, doesn't it, under the circumstances?
Jack at the end of his resources tried a desperate bluff.
"I'll put Acton on your track, my beauty, and perhaps he'll make you see—or feel—reason."
"That game's no good, young shaver. I don't want to see Mr. Acting no more than you want to tell him of your little blow-outs. Look here, are you going to pay? Yes or no?"
"I haven't got the money," said Jack, at his wits' end.
"Ho! that's very likely," said Raffles, with a sneer; "anyhow, you could mighty soon get it if you wanted to."
"How?"
"Why, borrow it, of course. Ask your chum, Mr. Acting. He 'as money. No end of brass, the Coon says."
"I can't do that," said Jack, in utter despair.
"Orl right," said Raffles, seeing his shot had told. "I see you ain't got the money on you now, and I don't want to be too 'ard on you. I'll give you a chance. I'll give you till Saturday to turn it over. My advice is to borrow from Mr. Acting. He'll lend it you, I should think; anyhow, I can't stand shilly-shallying here all night, no more than I can stand the loss of that grand gun, so I'm off. Have the money by Saturday at three, or I blow the gaff and you can be hung up or cut up for all I care. I'm not going to be more beastly friendly nor more chummy than that."