"Then you're not staying in town over night, Mr. Duncan?"
"I don't know. I'm not staying here, anyway." Duncan switched on the lights in his room. "Put it on the bed, Robbins. I'll pack as quickly as I can. I'm in a hurry."
"Yes, sir, but—I hope there's nothing wrong?"
"Then you lose," returned Duncan grimly: "everything's wrong." He jerked viciously at an obstinate bureau drawer, and when it yielded unexpectedly with the well-known impishness of the inanimate, dumped upon the floor a tangled miscellany of shirts, socks, gloves, collars and ties.
"Didn't you like the business, sir?"
"No, I didn't like the business—and it didn't like me. It's the same old story, Robbins. I've lost my job again—that's all."
"I'm very sorry, sir."
"Thank you—but that's all right. I'm used to it."
"And you're going to leave, sir?"
"I am, Robbins."