“Hallo!” said Davis, “what’s the matter? Is luck bad to-day?”
“I don’t know,” said Tom, “some people never have any, you know. How are you?”
“Look here,” said Davis, drawing Tom’s arm through his, “come along and let’s understand about this. We’re old friends you know. There’s no use in being down about the way the game goes; take heart and throw again, that’s all.”
They walked away, and Davis began to talk of old times and of the changes that had come. “And to think of you being left head of the family and going to business! I was expecting you over there every year for a while, till I found out how things were. Tell me how you like it;” and he went on with one question after another, until before Tom could believe it himself, he had drawn from him a pretty good idea of how matters stood.
“I wouldn’t stay there,” said Davis; “I’d clear out and be found missing some bright morning.”
“Perhaps you would,” said Tom, “with nobody looking to you to be anything to them, and more money than you know what to do with.”
“Oh, is that the difficulty? I didn’t know that was the case; but it isn’t the worst thing in the world to be got over. I can tell you a way to ease matters off and get a start on your own feet before a very long time;” and drawing Tom’s arm closer, he dropped into a low, confidential tone.
“But I can’t!” exclaimed Tom, starting back in horror, as Davis came to his point at last.
“Hold on,” said Davis, and went on talking rapidly in the same low whisper without giving Tom a chance for another word.
“Look here!” said Tom, stopping in his walk, and turning on Davis like some desperate creature driven to bay at last; “what do you take me for? Do you mean to insult me?”