"You and I go different ways, Dolph," he said. "We're plain folks over in Greenwich Village, and you—you're a man of fashion."
Jacob Dolph smiled—not very mirthfully. Van Riper's gaze travelled around the room, quietly curious.
"It costs money to be a man of fashion, doesn't it?"
"Yes," said Dolph, "it does."
There was silence for a minute, which Van Riper broke.
"If you've got to sell, Dolph, why, it's a pity; but I'll take it. I'll see Ogden to-day, and we can finish the business whenever you wish. But in my opinion, you'd do better to borrow."
Dolph shook his head.
"I've been quite enough of a fool," he replied.
"Well," said Mr. Van Riper, rising, "I must get to the office. You'll hear from Ogden to-morrow. I'm sorry you've got in such a snarl; but—" his lips stretched into something like a smile—"I suppose you'll know better next time. Good-day."