“Well, you are broke! Say, friend, I’ll stake you to a meal, if you’re that hard up.”
Stephen shook his head: “No, thank you. I have still my coat, which I can pawn; but I am much obliged for the stamp.”
He found an odd envelope lying on a table. Going over to the desk, he addressed this to Mr. Cameron. Then taking from the waste basket a sheet of paper, he wrote quickly upon it five words:
“I’m damned if I will.”
He put on the stamp with a hard pound of his fist, and threw the letter into the mail-box. Then, with his heart beating joyously, he walked out of the post-office. Inside his coat a note lay warm against his heart.
On the corner stood a pawnbroker’s shop. The brightness of the gilding upon the three balls showed that it was a successful one. The place was crowded with men who were disposing of everything that duty, a mild sense of decency, or necessity did not for the moment require. Loring entered the shop, and elbowing his way to the desk, laid down his coat. The proprietor picked it up, prodded the cloth with his thumb-nail, shook his head over the worn lining, then said:
“Two bits on that.”
Stephen silently took the proffered quarter, and went out.