"Come now, Tommy," snapped Griffith, shuffling back from the bathroom, "we all admit you've made a damned fool of yourself; but what's the use of grouching? Sit up now—look pleasant!" He swung around a chair for Lord James, and seated himself in an old rocker. "Come, sit up, Tommy. We're going to hold an inquest on the remains."
"They need it—that's no lie," mumbled Blake.
"Bah! Cherk up, you rooster! It isn't the first time you've lost your feet. Maybe your feelings are jolted, but—the instrument is safe. Remember that time you fell down the fifty-foot bank and never even knocked your transit out of adjustment? You never let go of your grip on it! Come; you'll soon be streaking out again, same as ever."
"No, you're clean off this time, Grif." Instead of raising his head,
Blake hunched over still lower. He went on in a dreary monotone, "No,
I'm done for this trip—down for the count. I'm all in."
"Rot!" protested Lord James.
"All in, for keeps, this time. I'm not too big a fool to see that.
Everything coming my way,—and to go and chuck it all like this.
Needn't tell me she'll overlook it. Wouldn't ask her to. I'm not worth
it."
"She's got to!" cried Griffith, with sudden heat. "She steered you up against this."
"What if she did? Only makes it all the worse. Didn't have sand enough to refuse. I'm no good, that's all—not fit to look at her—she's a lady. You needn't cut in with any hot air. I'm no more 'n a blackguard that got my chance to impose on her—and took it. That's the only name for it—young girl all alone!"
"No, no, old man, just the contrary, believe me!" exclaimed Lord James.
"I doubt if I myself could have done what you did when she—er—"
"'Cause there'd have been no need. You're in her class, while I—" He groaned, and burst out morosely: "You know I'm not, both of you. What's the use of lying?"