Bojo had come up and taken his free hand, looking in his eyes anxiously for the answer.
"I guess the game is up," said Drake at last. "There is only one chance, and though I swore I never would do it—" he stopped a moment, running his hand over Patsie's golden curls, "I guess I'll have to swallow my pride," he said.
"You're going to her," said the daughter, shuddering.
"Once more," he said, grimly.
Leaving her he went to the little table by the desk and poured out a stiff drink.
"Whew, what a day! Two hours more and I might have pulled through; I thought I had it all fixed up, but that Clearing House mess ended that! You can't sell men eggs at five cents a piece when they know to-morrow they can get the same at three cents."
He tried to smile, but back of it all Bojo was alarmed to see the disorder in the physical and moral man which had gained over him since yesterday. Despite Drake's determination to assume a stoic attitude he felt the biting bitterness and revolt that was gnawing at his soul.
Patsie wanted him to sit down to rest a moment, to have something, if only a morsel, brought in, but he refused absent-mindedly.
"No, no, I must get it over with. I must know where I stand."
Still he delayed his departure, evidently revolting against the rôle which he had determined to play.