“It is not.”
“You're right; it isn't. Still—hang it all, Paine! I don't often feel any compunctions when I beat a fellow in a game like this, and I did intend to have my own way in this one—”
“Well, you're having it, aren't you?” I put in. “Why talk so much about it?”
“Because I am not so sure I am having it. Of course I can see that, for some reason or other, you need thirty-five hundred dollars. Anyone but you, if they were going to sell, would get the last dime they could squeeze. You won't, because you are as pig-headed as—as—”
“Oh, do cut it short,” I snapped. And then, a trifle ashamed of my rudeness, “Excuse me, Mr. Colton, but this isn't exactly pleasant for me and I want to get it over. Will you pay me now?”
“Hold on; let me finish. I was going to say that, if you needed the thirty-five, perhaps I could manage to let you have it.”
I stared at him. “Let me have it!” I cried. “Do you mean you'll lend it to me?”
“Why, yes, maybe. You and I have had such a first-rate, square, stand up fight that I rather hate to have it end. I want to lick you, not have you quit before I've really begun to fight. There's no fool philanthropy in this, understand; it is just for my own satisfaction.”
I was so taken aback by this totally unexpected offer from the man whom I had insulted a dozen times since I entered his house, that I found it almost impossible to answer.
“What do you say?” he asked.