“Probably.”
The Man of the World thrust his hand into his pocket and drew out a roll of bills, which he offered me, sheepishly.
“We had a game of poker last night,” he said, “and I scooped in—I mean, I won. Take it, will you, for the little beggars? I don’t need it. I’m flush, and can ante just as well as not.”
CHAPTER XVI
Our second committee-meeting left us spent and weary. In making our programme we began to question the wisdom of presenting to working-women the scepticism and doubt and denial of modern English literature. We wandered off into a wilderness of abstract questions, and, as usual, lost our way.
Suddenly the door opened, and the Lad strode in.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, retreating.
We urged him to enter, saying that our work was done.
He brought with him the freshness of the open air. A wave of cheerfulness swept over us, and we remembered that the sun was shining out of doors.
“It is a glorious day,” observed the Lad. “I have just come in.”