Farnham straightened up in his chair, instantly realizing he had been guilty of playing the wrong card, and for the moment totally unable to perceive how safely to withdraw it. Even then he utterly failed to comprehend the deeper meaning in the other's words.
"I was thinking rather of what it was directly worth to us," he explained, "and had no conception you would look at it that way. However, we are perfectly willing to be liberal—how much do you want?"
For a moment Winston stared straight at him, his lips firmly set, his gray eyes grown hard as steel. Then he deliberately pushed back his chair, and rose to his feet, one clinched hand resting on the table.
"You may not fully understand my position," he began quietly, "for in all probability such a conception is utterly beyond you, but I do n't want a dollar, nor a cent. Good-night."
He turned deliberately toward the entrance, but the thoroughly astounded gambler leaped to his feet with one hand extended in sudden protest. He was angry, yet believed he perceived a great light shining through the darkness.
"Hold on, Winston," he exclaimed anxiously; "just a moment. I 'd totally forgotten that you were the son of a millionaire, and therefore possessed no desire for money like the rest of us more ordinary mortals. Now, let's be sensible. By God, you must want something! What is it?"
"You have received my final answer. I am not in the market."
Farnham crushed a bitter oath between his gleaming teeth, and flung his sodden cigar-butt to the floor.
"Do you actually mean you are crazy enough to go with Hicks, after all I 've told you?"
"I propose to discover for myself whether his claim is just. If it is, I 'm with him."