Despite the permission he had granted but a moment before Armstrong colored; with an effort he met his questioner frankly.
“No,” again.
“That’s good. It occurred to me that it might clear the atmosphere here a bit if you went away for a time. What do you say to McLean’s for a couple of weeks?”
On Armstrong’s face the red of a moment 280 ago changed to white, a white which spread to his very lips.
“And take the cure, you mean! Do you think, really, it’s as bad with me as that?”
“No,” bluntly; “I’d have said so if I had. But just because you might not contract pneumonia is no reason for not wearing an overcoat when the thermometer is at zero. I’d go if I were you, just as I’d be vaccinated if there was an epidemic of small-pox prevalent.”
“But the admission! A confirmed alcoholic!”
“Confirmed nothing. Your going is no one’s business but your own. The place is a general sanatorium; it’s advertised so. Anyway you will have good company. The biggest bondholder in the Traction Company is there now. Do you happen to have the money that you’ll need convenient?”
“No. That’s another rub; and besides—on the square, Darley, I don’t need to do that—yet. I know after last night things look bad; but—”
“I understand perfectly. Let’s not waste ammunition on a man of straw. The change will do you good, though, anyway. I’d go myself for the sake of that big marble plunge if I could spare the time.” He was writing a 281 check swiftly. “Pay it back when something drops,” he proffered; “there will be something develop soon—there always is. By the way, why not go along with me to-night? It’s on the same road.”