“I only got it this very day,” groaned Walter. “Am I in a fit state to write upon business, think you?”
“Business!” echoed Arthur contemptuously; “you're in a fit state to take a cab to Mayfair, and ask your poor wife's pardon, I brought her up to her aunt's house today myself.”
“That's well,” observed Walter reflectively; “for between you and me, Arthur Haldane”——
“Well, what?” exclaimed the barrister impatiently.
“Why, I think she'd better stay at her aunt's house altogether. The fact is, I've got no money to keep her.”
“We know all about that, man”——
“The devil you do!” ejaculated Walter grimly; “then bad news must indeed fly apace. Look here, Haldane—I've lost everything. All that I have at present; all that I was to have when I came of age; all that I can expect from any human being who is fool enough to leave me anything in time to come. I am a beggar, and worse than that, for I am a defaulter, and shall be proclaimed as such in a few days. That is the whole state of the case. Now, do you not think that the kindest office which a friend could do me, would be to help me with the means of blowing out, what would be in another man, his brains? For not only do I recognise myself a scoundrel, but as a senseless dolt and idiot, a fool of the first quality, and a”——
“You must owe, then, near seven thousand pounds,” interrupted Arthur, with something like a groan.
“Just about that, so far as I have dared to look the thing in the face; all lost within twenty-four hours—most of it within three minutes.”
“We must keep this from your mother somehow, Walter. She has been sadly tried, and I doubt whether she could bear it.”