“He is,” answered Sam dispassionately, “but you see I beat you to it. He’s mine.”
Glancing cautiously about the room, he took a roll of bills from his pocket and began laying them one at a time upon the table.
“Look here,” he said, “you’ve done a good piece of work. You should have won. For ten years half the society women of Chicago have been trying to marry their daughters or their sons to the Rainey fortune. They had everything to help them, wealth, good looks, and a standing in the world. You have none of these things. How did you do it?
“Anyway,” he went on, “I’m not going to see you trimmed. I’ve got ten thousand dollars here, as good Rainey money as ever was printed. You sign this paper and then put the roll in your purse.”
“That’s square,” said Luella London, signing, and with the light coming back into her eyes.
Sam beckoned to the proprietor of the restaurant whom he knew and had him and a waiter sign as witnesses.
Luella London put the roll of bills into her purse.
“What did you give me that money for when you had me beat anyway?” she asked.
Sam lighted a fresh cigar and folding the paper put it in his pocket.
“Because I like you and I admire your skill,” he said, “and anyway I did not have you beaten until right now.”