“For instance?” says I. “In the matter of handing over a little spendin’ money, eh?”
“You’ve struck it,” says he, with another shrug.
I glances at Pyramid; but there wa’n’t any more expression to that draw poker face of his than as if it was a cement block.
“Egbert,” says I, frank and confidential, “you’re a sweet scented pill, ain’t you?”
And does that draw any assault and battery motions? It don’t. All the result is to narrow them shifty eyes of his and steady ’em down until he’s lookin’ me square in the face.
“I was hard up, if you want to know,” says he. “I didn’t have a dollar.”
“And that,” says I, “is what you give out as an excuse for——”
“Yes,” he breaks in. “And I’m no worse than lots of other men, either. With money, I’m a gentleman; without it—well, I get it any way I can. And I want to tell you, I’ve seen men with plenty of it get more in meaner ways. I don’t know how to juggle stocks, or wreck banks, or use any of the respectable methods that——”
“Nothing personal, I hope,” puts in Mr. Gordon, with another chuckle.