The base Brentin shrugged his shoulders.
“Tong pee pour louee,” he said, in New York French. “Gentlemen, let us resoom the counting.”
“No!” I cried, banging the table, “not till we have decided what is to be done.”
Brentin frowned and looked across at me sourly. I couldn’t have believed success would so utterly change a man; but so it often is.
“Good chap, Teddy Parsons,” murmured Forsyth. “I’m sorry.”
“I do not know, sir,” scowled Brentin, “whether you propose to imperil the safety of five gentlemen, three elegant and refined ladies, and—”
“Was it, or was it not, understood we stood by each other?” I cried, impatiently. “See here, you fellows, you can’t be seriously thinking of leaving that poor little snipe in the lurch like this?”
“Parsons never was any particular friend of mine,” growled Hines.
“Besides, I expect he’s all right,” said Masters, evasively. “He knows people over at Mentone; he’ll be off over there, you bet.”
“Don’t you excite yourself, old boy,” murmured Forsyth. “Parsons is one of the cleverest chaps I know. He’ll get out of it all right, you take your oath. Besides, we can scarcely turn back now.”