“I’m no such blunderer as that,” answered Sponley, tolerantly. “This is what will happen. I will tell Bagsbury that I have bought your stock, and then, since you are really grossly incompetent as assistant cashier, at the next directors’ meeting we will act on your resignation. And you can see what will happen after that. You owe me alone enough money to make a rather fine smash, and you have other creditors besides. You can console yourself by telling John Bagsbury any fanciful yarn you can think of about me.” One could hardly say that Curtin listened, though he heard. He sat gripping the arms of his chair and stared. Sponley looked at him keenly. He could read the thoughts, though the blank face afforded no index. “You see,” he went on, “you’re not the sort to take poverty easily. When a fellow like me or John Bagsbury goes broke, his case isn’t hopeless at all. We’re used to making money, and we know how to take care of ourselves. We can do it, even if we do have to start back at the beginning. But you’re different. You’ve never been able to earn any money. Your father took care of you at first, and then he left you his property, and your friends took care of that for you, and you and they have got rid of most of it. When a fellow like you has hard luck and gets smashed, he comes down after a while to hanging round his former friends, trying to beg the price of a drink.” Curtin was trying to speak, but his shaking lips would not obey him. He rose from his chair and stood facing his persecutor. “All right,” he said at last. “All right. You can do all you say you will. You can bust me up; but I’d rather have that than the other. I’d rather have that than sell my soul to you. That’s what you want. But, by God, you won’t get it!” He began pacing the room, now swiftly, now slowly; Sponley sat still and watched him in silence for a moment. Then he asked:-- “Do you mind if I smoke? I want to think.” Curtin nodded, without pausing in his nervous walk. Sponley sat perfectly still. His gross body completely filled the wide arm-chair; there was something uncanny about his complete repose. You could as easily conceive of his receding from a position he had once taken, or relenting toward one who was in his power, as of a fat Indian idol’s answering a prayer for mercy. He did not look at Curtin, he only smoked and waited. As for Curtin, he had made his brave speech. He had resisted temptation, and the glow of virtuous indignation and righteous resolve was fast turning to cold ashes. And the minutes crept away till the big hand of the clock had made half its journey before Sponley spoke.