“Are you going to prison? Are you mad?”
“No, no” sniveled the wretched man. “I cant tell you.”
“Dont say the money has gone!”
“Ah no” cried he of a sudden sitting up at the mere idear, “ah no! I think we shall yet win, but it is a bad mess I am in.”
And so he sobbed out his sad story.
[102] During the while she had been away that day who should Harold meet but the head poet of the limerick class from the school of poetry and they had been to have a quick one together. Falling into talk as men will they had begun to exchange the latest tales, some not too nice, and indeed most of what Harold had brought with him from the lower world but he thought that the limerick poet would not mind as poets always like low life. He had told him a couple of good ones, and as it happened they were both about sport.
“I thought something was up” moaned the unhappy man, “for he gave me a very funny look. And as we were to come out, as we stood with our toothpicks on the step, he made a fishy excuse to pop off for a minute. When he came back he said there was a man he would like me to meet, so we went in the new car. It was a house out of Oxford St., which I thought strange, still as I was having a sigar [103] ]I thought perhaps it was that made me a bit nervy. Imagine my woe when we entered and I then found myself alone and defenseless with ... what do you think?”
“Lie down dear Harold and dont get excited” Selia said altho she was all agogg herself. “What was it? Cardsharpers?”
“Oh, no” sighed he, “it was the smell that told me almost before I was within, like floor-polish and cough-drops mixed and a bit of gin thrown in for sport. No, it was a doctors, one of the costly kind with carpets on the floor and carving instruments in glass cases.”
“A doctor!” screamed Selia. “Have you then an ilness?” And she rapidly mopped odor cologne on to his brow cuasing him to sneze which eased him.