So much for that part of his self-arraignment. One by one he marked the items out and stared with a twisted smile at the next.
"I borrow Brian's girls, his money and his clothes!" Hum! Once Garry had barked at him for sending orchids to a girl or two whom Brian liked.
The money, the clothes, the paraphernalia he had pawned, were returned. As for the girls—well, Brian had retaliated in kind and perhaps the debt in its concentration of payment, was abundantly squared.
"Indolence." That the record of his winter could disprove.
And finally, he read what, after Adam's telling of the truth, he had scribbled at the end.
"Life is a battle. I do not fight. And life is not an individual adventure."
It wasn't. It was a chain that clanked.
"I do not fight," he read again and crossed it out.
"Adam, old man," he said wryly, "I think to-night I've done some fighting. And the fight has just begun."
He tore the page out, struck a match and burned it. Again he dropped back in his chair and closed his eyes.