“How much will appease your creditors?”
Iredale spoke with such indifference about the amount that Hervey promptly decided to double the sum he originally intended to ask for.
“Five thousand dollars,” he said, with some show of diffidence, but with eyes that gazed hungrily towards this man who treated the loaning of a large amount in such a careless manner.
Iredale offered no comment. He merely rose from his seat, and opening a drawer in his bookcase, produced a cheque-book and a pen and ink. He made out a cheque for the amount named, and passed it across the table. His only remark was––
“Your luck may change. Pay me when you like. No, don’t bother about a receipt.”
Hervey seized upon the piece of paper. He was almost too staggered to tender his thanks. Iredale in his quiet way was watching, nor was any movement on his companion’s part lost to his observant eyes. He had “sized” this man up, from the soles of his boots to the crown of his head, and his contempt for him was profound. But he gave no sign. His cordiality was apparently perfect. The five thousand 154 dollars were nothing to him, and he felt that the giving of that cheque might save those at Loon Dyke Farm from a world of anxiety and trouble. Somehow behind that impassive face he may have had some thoughts of the coming of a future time when he would be able to deal with this man’s mode of life with that firmness which only relationship could entitle him to––when he could personally relieve Hephzibah of the responsibility and wearing anxiety of her worthless son’s doings. In the meantime, like the seafaring man, he would just “stand by.”
“I can’t thank you enough, George,” said Hervey at last. “You have got me out of an awkward situation. If I can do you a good turn, I will.” Iredale detected a meaning emphasis in the last remark which he resented. “Some day,” the man went on; “but there––I will say no more.”
“No, I shouldn’t say anything. These things happen in the course of a lifetime, and one mustn’t say too much about them.” The two men then smoked on in silence.
Presently Hervey rose to go. It was nearly eight o’clock.
“Well,” said Iredale, as he prepared to bid his guest good-bye, “we have had a good afternoon’s sport. Now you know my coverts you must come over again. Come whenever you like. If I am unable to go with you, you are welcome to shoot over the land by yourself. There are some grand antelope about the place.”