"Promise me never to play games of chance again. Think of what might have happened if God hadn't been so good to us after our having been so bad."
I promised. Then we went to my sister's room, and the whole story came out.
The colonel abruptly concluded his narrative.
"Here, here!" we cried; "this will never do. What was the end?"
"What happened to young Carruthers?" I demanded, with the novelist's love for details.
"That wasn't his name," replied the colonel, smiling.
"And what became of the girl?" asked Fletcher. "You can't choke us off that way, Bob. What became of the girl?"
"Seventy thousand dollars; I believe you're codding us a whole lot," said Collingwood.
"You're a fakir if you don't tell us what became of the girl," Fletcher again declared persistently.