"Then his influence must be bad. Turn him over to me the next—"
"No," Bodney quickly interposed. "Let everything go along as it is till the proper time and then—then I will attend to him. I am not in a position now to do anything, but one of these days I am going to tell you something that will open your eyes to the perfidy of man—man close to you. Don't say anything more now; I am crushed. I am—"
He leaned forward with his arms on a table and his head on his arms, his eyes hidden from the light. "Why, my dear boy," said Howard, going to him, touching him gently, "don't look at it that way. It is not so bad as that."
"It is worse," said Bodney, in a smothered voice. "It is worse than you can possibly picture it. And when I tell you, you will hate me as you never hated a human being on the earth. Don't ask me now, for I can't tell you. Just simply don't pay any attention to me. But I beg of you not to say a word at home. I have been led into hell, Howard, and there is no way out."
"Oh, yes, there is, my boy. There is the door through which you went in. Go out at it."
"I can't. You don't know."
"Are you in financial trouble? Has that fellow led you—"
"Worse than that, Howard. But I can't tell you now."
Once his long-delayed confession flowed to the very brim of utterance, but he forced it back and sat in silence. Howard went out and Bodney was thankful to be alone with his own misery; but he was not to be long alone—Goyle came in.
"Why, what's the matter, old chap? You seem to be in the dumps. Come, cheer up now. You've got no cause to be so blue? You don't see those fellows over yonder in the bank blue, do you? I guess not. And they are the biggest sort of robbers. I beat the horses today. And here's thirty of what I owe you. Oh, it's coming around all right. You can't keep a squirrel on the ground, you know."