Jimmy swore.
"I said I wouldn't. . . . I'm not going to be the first to give in.
It was her doing—she sent me away. If she wants me she can say so."
"She has her pride, too, you know,"
Jimmy swore again. He was feeling very ill and upset; he was firmly convinced that he was the most ill-used beggar in the whole of London. Remorse was gnawing hard at his heart, though he was trying to believe that it was entirely another emotion. He had not slept properly for nights; his head ached, and his nerves were jumpy.
"I'll not go till she sends for me," he said again obstinately.
Sangster made no comment.
He did not see Jimmy again for some days, though he heard of him once or twice from a mutual acquaintance.
"Challoner's going to the devil, I should think," so the mutual acquaintance informed him bluntly. "What's the matter with the chap? Hasn't anybody got any influence over him? He's drinking hard and gambling his soul away."
Sangster said "Rubbish!" with a confidence he was far from feeling.
He did not really believe it; he knew Jimmy was a bit reckless and inclined to behave wildly when things did not entirely go to his taste, but he considered this a gross exaggeration of the truth; he made a mental note to look Jimmy up the following day.