Throughout the next week Bob Wharton really tried to make good. He was enthusiastic; the excitement of actual accomplishment was so novel that he had not time to think of liquor. When Saturday came and he found himself in possession of honestly earned funds he felt a soul-satisfying ease. He decided to invest his first savings in a present for Lorelei, then a graver sense of responsibility seized him, and he wrote to Mrs. Knight as follows:
MY DEAR MOTHER-IN-NEW-JERSEY-LAW,—Inclosed find five handsome examples of the engraver's skill, same being the result of six industrious days. I know your passion for these objets d'art, I appreciate your eagerness to share my father's celebrated collection, and I join you in regrets at your failure to do so. But remember, "As a moth gnaws a garment, so doth envy consume a man." Take these photogravures, love them, cherish them, share them with the butcher, the baker, the hobble-skirt maker, and console yourself with the thought that, although you have lost much, you have gained something above price in me.
Thine in everlasting fetters,
ROBERT.
Having despatched this missive, he set out to find Jim, for the afternoon was young and he wished to settle his obligations in full. It is well to be systematic; business is largely a matter of system, anyhow, and the tag ends of one week's work should never be allowed to lap over into another.
A round of popular up-town resorts failed to discover Jim, but Bob's search finally brought him to Tony the Barber's shop; and here, in the rear room, he found his brother-in-law playing cards with a pop-eyed youth and a repellent person with a cauliflower ear.
Bob's greeting was hearty. "Evening, James," he cried. "Feel like taking your beating here?"
"Eh? What's the matter?" Jim rose from his chair with a shocked intensity of gaze.
"I'm just cleaning up my affairs for the day of rest, and I've come to return your last call. Alas, James, I am a weak vessel! Your work was coarse, but I fell for it." To the other occupants of the room he apologized. "I'm sorry to spoil your little game of authors, but necessity prods me." He extended a muscular hand for Jim's collar and found it.
Mr. Armistead was of the emotional kind; he leaped to his feet and went to the rescue of his friend; but his first blow was wild. Seizing a chair, he swung it aloft—a manoeuver which more effectively distracted Bob's attention—but this attack also failed when Bob's fist buried itself in the spongy region of Mr. Armistead's belt-buckle, and that young man promptly lost all interest in Jimmy Knight's affairs. There had been a time when he might have weathered such a blow, but of late years easy living had left its marks; therefore he sat down heavily, all but missing the chair he had just occupied. His eyes bulged more prominently than usual; he became desperately concerned with a strange difficulty in breathing.