"Now, if I hadn't been drunk, I shouldn't have come back to the Universe. I was due a quarter of a mile away from here. They'll keep me when they find me. I haven't paid my bill here to Madame Poulet for six weeks. But they are decent, trustful sort of people and can't believe a chap won't ever pay. But I was fool enough to leave my father's cable in my room and Madame Poulet had it translated. I grant you it wasn't encouraging for a creditor, Rainsford."
Antony heard his name used for the first time, the R's rolled and made the most of. It seemed to bring back the dead.
"Listen to the cable," said the communicative young man: "'You can go to the devil. Not a cent more from me or your mother.'"
Fairfax, who was tying his cravat, turned around and smiled, and he limped over to his visitor.
"It's not the most friendly telegram I ever heard," he said.
"Step-father," returned the other briefly. "She knows nothing about it—my mother, I mean. I've been living on her money here for two years and over and it's gone; but before I take a penny from him ..."
"I understand," said Fairfax, going back to the mirror and beginning to brush his hair.
"Did you ever have a mother?" asked the red-haired young man with a queer look on his face, and added, "I see you have. Well, let's drop the subject, then, but you may discuss step-fathers all you choose."
Fairfax, for he was not Rainsford, yet, took a fancy to his visitor, a fancy to his rough, deep voice; he liked the eyes that were clearing fast, liked the kindly spirited face and the ready, boy-like confidence.
"What are you up to in Paris?" he asked Dearborn, regarding him with interest.