“That’s bad,” he suddenly squeaked. “It nearly puts me into the river—a desperate man’s last resort, you see.”
“I can’t help that,” said Claude coldly. “Every man can do as he pleases with his anatomy, and if you see fit to immerse yours, why, I can’t object.”
“You can’t help Rosy Larkins, who used to play for you at the Daisy Chain? You can’t give the old beau a lift?”
“It wouldn’t stop with you,” was the reply. “It wouldn’t stop with you, Rosy.”
“I’m but the advance guard, eh?”
“That’s it.”
Rosy Larkins appeared to get upon his feet with difficulty. He looked down at Claude Lamont and seemed to study him a minute.
“Then I’ll have to sell it,” said he.
In spite of himself the millionaire’s son lost a little color.
“You’ll have to sell what?” he asked.