“Oh, yes. Experience costs money, you know. You’ll get it all back, and more, too, some day.”
“How can I, when you are going away?”
“I don’t mean out of me. I suppose my game is better than yours. I mean out of somebody else.”
Philip was silent. The hope held out did not seem to comfort him much.
“When will you pay me that money, Phil?” asked Congreve, abruptly.
“When? I’m sure I don’t know. I haven’t any money, you know.”
“That won’t do. It isn’t satisfactory,” said Congreve, assuming a sternness he had never before exhibited toward his friend.
“What do you mean?” asked Philip, half frightened, half offended.
“I mean that I need the money, and must have it.”
“I’d pay it to you if I had it, but I haven’t.”