“The paper lies! Lies, do you hear? Let me see it! Let me see it! Where does it say that? Where, where? Show it to me if you can! Show it to me—”
His eyes slowly widened in horror, and his mouth remained agape, as he hastily scanned the contents of an article in big type on the first page. Then the extra dropped from his nerveless fingers, and he mechanically seated himself at the table, his eyes vacant. To his surprise, he was horribly calm. Simply his nerves had snapped; they could torture him no longer by stretching.
“It's not enough to have—have her die, but I must be her poisoner,” he said mechanically.
“It's all circumstantial evidence, or nearly so,” added Drake, shifting from one foot to the other. “You were the only one who would have a cause to get square. And Crimmins says he gave you permission to see her alone. Even the stable-hands say that. It looks bad, kid. Here, don't take it so hard. Get a cinch on yourself,” he added, as he watched Garrison's blank eyes and quivering face.
“I'm all right. I'm all right,” muttered Billy vaguely, passing a hand over his throbbing temples.
Drake was silent, fidgeting uneasily.
“Kid,” he blurted out at length, “it looks as if you were all in. Say, let me be your bank-roll, won't you? I know you lost every cent on Sis, no matter what they say. I'll give you a blank check, and you can fill it out—”
“No, thanks, Jimmy.”
“Don't be touchy, kid. You'd do the same for me—”
“I mean it, Drake. I don't want a cent. I'm not hard up. Thanks all the same.” Garrison's rag of honor was fluttering in the wind of his pride.