They were nearing their destination, and there was still something he wanted to say to Micky which so far, he had been afraid to put into words.
“Well, I suppose I shan’t be seeing you again for a bit,” he said, with rather a forced laugh. “You’ve been a good pal to me, Micky–––”
Micky said “Rot!” rather shortly; he frowned in the darkness; Ashton got on his nerves; he rather wished he had not come to see him off.
“Oh, but you have––whether you like me to say so or not,” the other man went on obstinately. “And––and there’s one last thing I’m going to ask you before I go....”
He waited, but Micky did not speak.
The taxi was turning into the station yard now, moving slowly because of the congested traffic.
“If you could give Lallie some money,” Ashton went on with a rush. “I’d send her some, but I’ve only just got enough to get out of the way with. I’ll pay you back as soon as the mater condescends to send me another cheque....”
Micky’s face felt hot.
“Hasn’t she––hasn’t she got any, then?” he asked with an effort.
“No––at least I promised her some when I saw her this morning. She––she’s left Eldred’s. You see”––he drew a hard breath––“you see, I hoped we’d be able to get married, and so––well, there was no sense in her staying on there. She was worked to death, poor kid.”