"Didn't I tell you that I would get the money for you tonight? Is that all?" he asked gravely. "Will, you are hiding something," he added with firmness.
"Yes, there is more," Will replied, a crimson flush surmounting to his temples. Suddenly he looked around with a hunted expression.
"George, I'm branded a thief! I'll be hounded tomorrow. A thief!—you hear me? Not a man! Alma's husband—a thief!"
George grasped his shoulder in consternation.
"You're crazy, man! Stop such names! you are exaggerating some mis-step. Tell me everything! I'll stand by you. Don't be a coward!"
The hunted expression gave way to one of misery.
"George, you're a brick, but you can't save me. When I lost my own money, I became frenzied—succeed I must or be in disgrace for debt. I don't know how I did it. I took the bank's money when sure of success—meant to put it back—speculated with it, lost all, all! I heard tonight they had discovered it. To-morrow will come the arrest. I'll be a jail-bird soon—a thief behind the bars!"
George's face became stolidly set.
"How much did you borrow?" he asked calmly.
"Fifty thousand," he answered hoarsely.