“Jim,” he said doggedly, “I’ve got to have that money.”
“Beau Allen,” said the Colonel in the same tone, “by what right do you dare to say that to me?”
For a silent moment they eyed each other, then the elder man went on:
“Twenty-five years ago you stole my sweetheart. Four years ago you tried to steal my land and I gave it to you, because you had a wife and two helpless children; and now you’re trying to steal my house.”
“I’ve got the same right as I had before,” said the other, “I’ve still got two helpless children.”
“Am I to be robbed to provide for your children?”
“You’re using pretty strong words, Jim, but you’ve had provocation. You’ve met bad usage at my hands and you’ve given back good. Give it back once more, for the last time. Give it back for the sake of my two girls. They’re as helpless now as they ever were, and God knows I’m as unable to help them.”
“Why should I keep on providing for your children? You’re their father, younger than I, and as able-bodied. Four years ago I put you on your feet when I gave you the Parrish Tract. You’ve had your chances, the best I could give you. I’m on the ragged edge too. I’m sixty years old and I’ve had to apply for a position.”
“Listen to me, Jim,” with desperate urgence. “Let me have this money till after Rosamund’s marriage. Let me have fifteen thousand dollars of it. So help me God, I’ll invest the rest in your name in any securities you mention. Don’t you see I’ve got to have money till after that? I can’t let Harrower know we’re bust. You think he doesn’t care. But I tell you he does. What’s going to happen to Rosamund if he throws her over at the last moment?”
The Colonel was silent, looking at the ash tray from beneath down-drawn, bushy brows. Allen close at his elbow continued with fevered intensity: