“They’ll be jumping on me for the money I owe!” snarled the judge. “Vose has ruined me if he has bragged. You have—”
“Just a moment, sir, before you say something you’ll be sorry for. It’s just the other way, I’ll warrant! Men will bring more money to you. You can be shrewd and work out of your troubles. Your credit is established. I made a good play when I did it.”
“You say there’s a thousand dollars in that envelope?”
“Yes, sir! I have handed the other packets to you. I propose to give Mr. Vose five hundred dollars profit—and after I have done that you’ll get the best advertising you ever had. They’ll rate you mighty high in these parts. Five hundred is a cheap price for what you’ll get.”
“But I need every cent just now to tide me over,” he whined. “You are throwing money away recklessly. Vose can be taken care of some time. Give him his own five hundred—or—or—say it has been invested for him. I will attend to his case later.”
And do you know what that old rhinoceros did? He reached out his paw to take that packet. I had to pound my fist on his fingers to make him let go.
He stood up and called me names—said that I was taking money he needed. I suppose I ought to have made allowances for the state of mind he was in—his fears—his weakness of old age—his dreadful anxiety which still goaded him.
But I was in a bad way, myself, and I could not pardon that selfishness.
“Confound you,” I yelled, “I have a mind to back you against the wall and strip every dollar out of your pockets!”
And then we heard a noise and we turned around, and there stood Celene Kingsley looking at us—looking at me especially with hatred and horror.