"There's no need for you to be so ugly about it, J. Rufus," he protested. "I wouldn't take a cent away from you."
"Wouldn't you!" sneered J. Rufus. "Do you know why? I'd never give you a chance. Let me show you the last man that tried to do me up," and he led the way into the apartment where Mr. Maylie still lay in profound slumber.
Mr. Daw grinned.
"He makes you look perfectly sober," he confessed; "but what are those papers on the table?"
Mr. Wallingford laughed quite naturally this time.
"Poor boob!" he said. "He just lost forty thousand, and those telegrams are his fee."