"Five thousand for the honeymoon. After that a thousand weekly. Not another cent."
"I've got to have the limousine," whined Bobo.
Jack's lip curled. "You're not exactly in a position to make demands. However, you can have the car. It's no good to me."
Bobo commenced to stammer his thanks.
"Cut it out!" said Jack. "I'm only doing it, because it happens to suit my plans. You have disobeyed my orders, and forfeited all claims on me. I reserve the right of course, to show you up whenever it suits me."
Bobo lived in the present. Seeing his immediate needs relieved, he refused to consider the unpleasant future. His eye brightened as Jack went to write him a check.
31
This was the night of the weekly meeting of the Friends of Freedom, Barbarossa's circle, of which Jack was now a full member. On his way to the meeting-place he stopped in at Harmon Evers' place according to custom, to be metamorphosed from Jack Robinson into Henry Cassels, the wild-haired young anarchist.
Jack enjoyed these visits to the wig-maker. Evers was an original. His philosophy never failed him—nor his common-sense. He was so conspicuous for the latter quality that Jack more than once had been tempted to confide in him fully, with the idea of profiting by his advice. It was only the general rule he had laid down for himself, not to tell a soul of his affairs, that had restrained him. As it was, he and Evers had talked over the situation in hypothetical terms. Evers never allowed himself to betray a vulgar curiosity.