“What part of the twenty-five thousand went into the arsenic?” he said, after a pause. There was no feeling in the voice now; it was again even and inquiring.
“Nearly all.”
“Don’t lie. You’ve been living freely. Tell the truth, or—or I’ll know the reason why, Billy.”
“About two-thirds-that’s the truth. I had debts, and I paid them.”
“And you bet on the races?”
“Yes.”
“And lost?”
“Yes. See here, Charley; it was the most awful luck—”
“Yes, for the fatherless children and widows, and all that are oppressed!”
Charley’s look again went through and beyond the culprit, and he recalled his wife’s words and his own reply. A quick contempt and a sort of meditative sarcasm were in the tone. It was curious, too, that he could smile, but the smile did not encourage Billy Wantage now.