“You must get it.”
“How can I? My father won’t give it to me.”
“Listen to me. I am in earnest. I want to ask you a question. Suppose you had won, wouldn’t you have expected me to pay you?”
“Why, yes, I suppose so.”
“Well, it’s a poor rule that doesn’t work both ways. I tell you, Phil, I need that money. I need it to pay my hotel bill.”
“Was that what you depended upon to pay your bills?” asked Philip, with awakening suspicion. “I thought you had plenty of money.”
This was what Congreve had represented to his dupe, but the question by no means disconcerted him.
“Of course,” he said; “but a man can’t always command his resources. I have sent in two different directions for money, but they have put me off, so I have to fall back on you.”
“I’d like to pay the money, and get it off my mind,” said Philip, uncomfortably, “but the fact of it is I can’t.”
“This is a debt of honor. Gentlemen always pay their debts of honor. It takes precedence of all other claims.”