"Twenty-five thousand dollars," said Hal, "together with lawyers' fees. I couldn't go on."
"Say, I know that old hen of a nurse," said one of the sporting writers, with entire seriousness. "Wonder if it'd do any good to marry her?"
A roar went up from the table at this, somewhat relieving the tension of the atmosphere.
Shearson, the advertising manager, lolling deep in his chair, spoke up diffidently, as soon as he could be heard:
"I ain't rich. But I've put a little wad aside. I could chip in three thou' if that'd help."
"I've got five hundred that isn't doing a stitch of work," declared Wainwright.
"Some of my relations have wads of money," suggested young Denton. "I wouldn't wonder if—"
"No, no, no!" cried Hal, in a shaken voice. "I know how well you fellows mean it. But—"
"As a loan," said Wainwright hopefully. "The paper's good enough security."
"Not good enough," replied Hal firmly. "I can't take it, boys. You—you're a mighty good lot, to offer. Now, about looking for other places—"