“We had not begun the game,” rejoined Tod. “You stopped it by trebling the stakes. I tell you, Crayton, I’ll not play again to-night.”
“Then perhaps you’ll pay me your losses.”
“How much are they?” asked Tod, biting his lips.
“To-night?—or in all, do you mean?”
“Oh, let us have it all,” was Tod’s answer; and I saw that he had great difficulty in suppressing his passion. All of them, except Crayton, seemed tolerably heated. “You know that I have not the ready-money to pay you; you’ve known that all along: but it’s as well to ascertain how we stand.”
Crayton had been coolly turning over the leaves of a note-case, adding up some figures there, below his breath.
“Eighty-five before, and seven to-night makes just ninety-two. Ninety-two pounds, Todhetley.”
I sprang up from the chair in terror. It was as if some blast had swept over me, “Ninety-two pounds! Tod! do you owe that?”
“I suppose I do.”