It was Tod. Tod with a white face, and his hair damp with running. He had come from Sophie Chalk’s.
“What is it, Tod?”
I laid my hand upon his arm in speaking. He threw it off with a word that was very like an imprecation.
“What is the matter?”
“The devil’s the matter. Mind your own business, Johnny.”
“Have you been quarrelling with Everty?”
“Everty be hanged! The man has betaken himself off.”
“How much have you lost to-night?”
“Cleaned-out, lad. That’s all.”