“Why have you come here to tell me this?” he asked.
Darius Darke’s manner changed.
“Because,” said he, “I need money. The world has not used me well. Let me have five hundred dollars, and you will not see me again for a year.”
“I cannot do it,” answered Simpson, hastily.
“Reflect upon it for five minutes. I think you will let me have it.”
There was a little haggling, but Darke remained firm. In the end he prevailed. Before he left the room, money and securities amounting to five hundred dollars were in his hands.
“Where are you going?” asked Simpson.
“I leave this town to-morrow, but I must pass the night somewhere. I suppose I will not be received in the hotel, looking as I am. Will you allow me to sleep in your stable?”
John Simpson hesitated. Finally he spoke.
“Follow me,” he said.