“When you don’t earn, money melts. My credit kept me going for a time. Then I had to tell her. I was sure she’d leave me. I’m only good to hand out. She told me that lots of times.”
“She left you?”
Tom’s eyes snapped; he was radiant with pride.
“She didn’t. She had an auction sale. All her friends were there; they wouldn’t miss it. She sold everything, even her engagement ring, and paid every cent I owed. By God! she did.” There was a choked sob. “I had to do something to get even, didn’t I?”
“Yes, Tom.” Floyd was beginning to respect him.
“I went to my friends, but they wanted solid men in their business, and I couldn’t blame ’em. I walked about like a crazy man, couldn’t get a job. She kept enough to furnish a band-box in the Bronx. She does all the work. You must see her. She’s as pretty as a peach, and the place is as neat as wax.”
“But how did you come to this, Tom?”
“She sent me to sell the car; that hurt me. I went and sat around the garage with the boys. I was down and out; they had money to burn. They said, ‘Sell? nothing doing—a car like yours is capital.’ Well, I didn’t sell; I commenced going out nights. I was ashamed to be seen, but I got over that. Then I risked it in the daytime; now I flaunt my shame. I tell you! it’s a rotten world—when I had money it was a stunt to do my own repairs. When I took the crowd out joy riding, I was a good sport, but to ‘hack’ for a living is common. I’m done with that swell bunch. Maudy says they’re beneath us.”
Then he sat looking at Floyd, his eyes begging.
“Tom, you’ve solved your problem, I’m proud of you.”