“I'll send you a cheque this afternoon, 'pon my soul,” said Roderick.
“You've told me that before, Usher. I want you to write the cheque now.”
Roderick looked him between the eyes, and threw off his mask of cordiality.
“Suppose I say I don't like your tone, and will see you damned before I do otherwise than suit my own convenience?”
“Then I shall conclude you have bagged the money and can't repay.”
“You are insulting,” said Roderick.
“I believe I am stating facts. It was rather odd your meeting those bills that Willie Lathrop backed, just at that time, wasn't it?” Roderick again cursed Willie Lathrop under his breath. He turned aside and lit a cigarette, so as to gain time. Then he forced a laugh.
“Come, come, Urquhart. This is all nonsense. It was too large a sum to leave idle at my bankers,—besides, there's always a risk, you know,—so I invested it,—in Trust Funds, of course. One can't buy and sell stock over a counter. There are delays of correspondence. And I've been so devilish busy with wedding preparations, you know, that I haven't attended to it. I'll write at once to my broker. There.”
Urquhart listened with an incredulous smile. He gathered up his hat and gloves.
“Sometimes it pleases me to act the Godforsaken fool you did yourself the pleasure to call me. Sometimes it doesn't. I'll give you till to-morrow night to send me your cheque for £2,000 with the per cent interest. If you don't—”