“To-day—since you seem to be in a hurry.”
“To-day is it? Sunday—and you out of work? I like that. Come—where are you going to get the money?”
Tracy’s spirit was rising again. He proposed to impress these people:
“I am expecting a cablegram from home.”
Old Marsh was caught out, with the surprise of it. The idea was so immense, so extravagant, that he couldn’t get his breath at first. When he did get it, it came rancid with sarcasm.
“A cablegram—think of it, ladies and gents, he’s expecting a cablegram! He’s expecting a cablegram—this duffer, this scrub, this bilk! From his father—eh? Yes—without a doubt. A dollar or two a word—oh, that’s nothing—they don’t mind a little thing like that—this kind’s fathers don’t. Now his father is—er—well, I reckon his father—”
“My father is an English earl!”
The crowd fell back aghast-aghast at the sublimity of the young loafer’s “cheek.” Then they burst into a laugh that made the windows rattle. Tracy was too angry to realize that he had done a foolish thing. He said:
“Stand aside, please. I—”
“Wait a minute, your lordship,” said Marsh, bowing low, “where is your lordship going?”