“Pals then,” he corrected, not knowing why.
“Well, yes, I suppose so.”
“That’s why I’m going to put something up to you. I want you to listen quietly and then I want you to stand by me. Naomi—I’ve done a lot of things in my young life that I’m not exactly proud of. But the worst that could have been said of me was that I’ve been a waster. I’ve wasted one or two fortunes that the old Kents slaved to pile up—on cards—on the wheel—on the ponies—on women—I’ve never been anything but a waster. But that goes in more senses than one. I’ve never been a cad. Not until a month ago.”
He waited for some response but Naomi merely struck a match and touched it to the wick of the samovar. If a quick question did flash to her lips, she held it back and kept her eyes lowered.
“You know when that was. I was non compos mentis and I egged you into making a bet—”
“In other words, dear Marshy,” she filled in his pause, “you want me to let you off on the plea of—well, the undue influence of liquor. Of course I will.”
He pushed aside her easy acquiescence with a sweep that almost knocked the cup from her hand. “But that’s not all. The bet’s not the thing that’s bothering me. It’s you. You and that boy, Dixon. Naomi, you’ve got to quit. You’ve got to, do you hear me?”
“Quit—what?”
[148]
] “Don’t play the innocent! You know what I’m driving at. I’ve made myself your partner in the job of smashing that boy’s life. And I’m telling you—”
“Wait a minute!”