Tony, however, did not rise from the sofa nor show any inclination to comply, and his friend irrelevantly, as though he took up the young man's problems where he had left them, before his own sentiment for Molly had estranged him from her husband—
"You must be pretty hard up by now, Tony." He drew from his waistcoat pocket his wallet, and took out a roll of bills which he folded mechanically and held in his transparent hand. "Ever since the day you came in to take your orders from me in West Albany, I've wanted to help you. Now I've got the money to do so, old man."
"No, my kind friend."
"Don't refuse me then, if I am that." The other's lip twitched. "Take it, Tony."
"You mustn't ask me to, Peter."
"I made a turnover last week in N. Y. U. I can afford it. I ask you for the sake of old times."
Fairfax covered the slender hand with his. He shook it warmly.
"I'm sorry, old man. I can't do it."
The near-sighted eyes of the paymaster met those of Fairfax with a melancholy appeal, and the other responded to his unspoken words—
"No, Rainsford, not for anything in the world."