Langham turned a pale face on the gambler.
"You won't do that, Andy!" he said, in a voice which he vainly strove to hold steady.
"Won't I? Do you think I'm in business for my health?" And he laughed shortly, then he wheeled on Langham with unexpected fierceness. "I'll give you until the first of the month, Marsh, and then I'm going after you without gloves. I don't care a damn who squares the account; your indorsers' cash will suit me as well as your own." He caught the expression on Langham's face, its deathly pallor, the hunted look in his eyes, and paused suddenly. The shadow of a slow smile fixed itself at the corners of his mouth, he put out a hand and rested it on Langham's shoulder. "You damn fool! Have you tried that trick on me? I'll take those notes to the bank in the morning and see if the signatures are genuine."
"Do it!" Langham spoke in a whisper.
"Maybe you think I won't!" sneered the gambler. "Maybe you'd rather I didn't, eh? It will hardly suit you to have me show those notes?"
"Do what you like; whatever suggests itself to a scurvy whelp like you!" said Langham.
Gilmore merely grinned at this.
"If you are trying to encourage me to smash you, Marsh, you have got the right idea as to how it is to be done." But his tone was now one of lazy good nature.
"Smash me then; I haven't the money to pay you."
"Get it!" said Gilmore tersely.