Haviland looked at him blankly for a moment. He laughed shortly, and remarked: “I guess you are not such a fool, after all.”
He drew his check book from his pocket, took a pen from the table, and dipping it in the ink, dated a check and signed it.
“For what amount shall I make it, Norton?” The pen hovered above the blank space on the check.
John shook his head.
“No,” doggedly. “I can't do it,—I'm sorry for you, but I can't. What's the use?—it will be about as hard on me as on you,—I'll lose my place.”
But Haviland was not heeding him.
“If I make it ten thousand, will that satisfy you?”
It was John's turn to look blank. Ten thousand dollars! He turned faint and giddy; he tried to speak; he saw the pen circle and then sweep down toward the check. He put out his hand and caught Haviland by the wrist.
“No, don't!” he gasped.
“Shall I make it fifteen thousand?”