The man nodded, awkwardly and slouched away.
Keith's depression had given place to anger. He had been beaten by unfair means; his opponent had cheated at the game, and his opponent enjoyed the respect of the community as a high-minded, able, dignified member of the bar. It was unthinkable! A man caught cheating at cards would most certainly be expelled from any decent club.
"I'll disbar that man if it's the last act of my life!" He cried, "He's not fit to practise among decent men!"
He left Krafft standing on the corner and smiling quietly, and hurried back to his office.
XLII
It was unfortunate for everybody that Morrell should have chosen that particular afternoon to pay one of his periodical calls. Morrell had been tactful and judicious in his demands. Keith was not particularly afraid of his story or the effect of it if told, but he disliked intensely the fuss and bother of explanations and readjustments. It had seemed easier to let things drift along. The transactions were skilfully veiled, notes were always given, Morrell was shrewd enough to take care that it did not cost too much. There existed not the slightest cordiality between the men, but a tacit assumption of civil relations.
But this afternoon the sight of Morrell, seated with what seemed to Keith a smug, superior, supercilious confidence in the best of the office chairs, was more than Keith could stand. He was bursting with anger at the world in general.
"You here?" he barked at Morrell, without waiting for a greeting.
"Well, I'm sick of you! Get out!"
Morrell stared at him dumbfounded.
"I don't believe I understand," he objected.