Montague sat with knitted brows, pondering. He was beginning to see a little daylight now. “Oliver,” he asked suddenly, “are you sure the stakes in this game aren’t too big?”
“How do you mean?” asked the other.
“Will you be able to stay in until the show-down? Until either Alice or myself begins to bring in some returns?”
“Never worry about that,” said the other, with a laugh.
“But hadn’t you better take me into your confidence?” Montague persisted. “How many weeks can you pay our rent in this place? Have you got the money to pay for all these clothes?”
“I’ve got it,” laughed the other—“but that doesn’t say I’m going to pay it.”
“Don’t you have to pay your bills? Can we do all this upon credit?”
Oliver laughed again. “You go at me like a prosecuting attorney,” he said. “I’m afraid you’ll have to inquire around and learn some respect for your brother.” Then he added, seriously, “You see, Allan, people like Reggie or myself are in position to bring a great deal of custom to tradespeople, and so they are willing to go out of their way to oblige us. And we have commissions of all sorts coming to us, so it’s never any question of cash.”
“Oh!” exclaimed the other, opening his eyes, “I see! Is that the way you make money?”
“It’s one of the ways we save it,” said Oliver. “It comes to the same thing.”