Mr. Cooke sat down and drew a wallet from his pocket. He began to count the bills, and, as if by common consent, the Four followed suit. It was a task which occupied some minutes, and when completed my client produced a morocco note-book and a pencil. He glanced interrogatively at the man nearest him.
"Three hundred and fifty."
Mr. Cooke put it down. It was entirely a matter of course. What else was there to be done? And when he had gone the round of his followers he turned to Farrar and me.
"How much are you fellows equal to?" he asked.
I believe he did it because he felt we should resent being left out: and so we should have. Mr. Cooke's instincts were delicate.
We told him. Then he paused, his pencil in the air, and his eyes doubtfully fixed on the senator. For all this time Mr. Trevor had been fidgeting in his seat; but now he opened his long coat, button by button, and thrust his hand inside the flap. Oh, Falstaff!
"Father, father!" exclaimed Miss Trevor. But her tongue was in her cheek.
I have heard it stated that if a thoroughly righteous man were cast away with ninety and nine ruffians, each of the ruffians would gain one-one-hundredth in virtue, whilst the righteous man would sink to their new level. I am not able to say how much better Mr. Cooke's party was for Mr. Trevor's company, but the senator seemed to realize that something serious had happened to him, for his voice was not altogether steady as he pronounced the amount of his contribution.
"Trevor," cried Mr. Cooke, with great fervor, "I take it all back.
You're a true, public-spirited old sport."
But the senator had not yet reached that extreme of degradation where it is pleasurable to be congratulated on wickedness.