“Hello, Hugh,” greeted the occupant of the window-seat. “Why aren’t you——”
“Don’t ask any questions, Wal! I want some money. All you can spare, please. I’ll pay you back before the end of the week.”
“Money!” Cathcart blinked. “Why, the fact is——”
“I know! You’re going to tell me you’ve got only a couple of dollars. That’s all right, old chap. I’ll take it, and thank you.”
“I’ve got about five, I guess, Hugh. What—what’s up?”
“I’ll tell you later. I’m in a beast of a hurry. Dig it up, will you? Better keep out fifty cents or so, because I might not be able to hand it back before Friday or Saturday.”
Cathcart’s countenance expressed bewilderment as he floundered to his feet and crossed to the dresser. But he obediently handed over the contents of a pigskin purse.
“Ripping!” said Hugh approvingly. “How much? Five and a quarter? That’s eleven. I say, keep a note of the amount, will you? Shall I take it all?”
Cathcart nodded. “I shan’t need any, I guess. Only,” he added plaintively, “I wish you’d tell me what it’s all about!”
“Later,” replied Hugh, making for the door. “Thanks awfully, old chap! So long.”