“Humph! Have you thought of what our mutual friend Dean and the rest of the patriots may say when they find this out?” I had thought of little else all the way from the bank to his door. I was thinking of it then. “Of course,” he added, “that is not my affair, but--” “It is not.” “You're right; it isn't. Still--hang it all, Paine! I don't often feel any compunctions when I beat a fellow in a game like this, and I did intend to have my own way in this one--” “Well, you're having it, aren't you?” I put in. “Why talk so much about it?” “Because I am not so sure I am having it. Of course I can see that, for some reason or other, you need thirty-five hundred dollars. Anyone but you, if they were going to sell, would get the last dime they could squeeze. You won't, because you are as pig-headed as--as--” “Oh, do cut it short,” I snapped. And then, a trifle ashamed of my rudeness, “Excuse me, Mr. Colton, but this isn't exactly pleasant for me and I want to get it over. Will you pay me now?” “Hold on; let me finish. I was going to say that, if you needed the thirty-five, perhaps I could manage to let you have it.” I stared at him. “Let me have it!” I cried. “Do you mean you'll lend it to me?” “Why, yes, maybe. You and I have had such a first-rate, square, stand up fight that I rather hate to have it end. I want to lick you, not have you quit before I've really begun to fight. There's no fool philanthropy in this, understand; it is just for my own satisfaction.” I was so taken aback by this totally unexpected offer from the man whom I had insulted a dozen times since I entered his house, that I found it almost impossible to answer. “What do you say?” he asked. “No,” I faltered. And then more firmly, “No; certainly not. I--I am much obliged to you, Mr. Colton, but--no.” “All right. You know best. I'll take your offer and I will hand you the money at the bank to-morrow morning. Will that do?” “Not at the bank, Mr. Colton. Send it over to the house, if you can conveniently.” “I'll have it here before ten. My lawyer will draw up the papers and arrange for transfer of title in a few days. What? Going, are you? Good night. Oh--er--Paine, remember that my other offer, that of the place in my office, is open when you're ready to take it.” I shook my head. I had turned to go, but now I turned back, feeling that, perhaps, I should apologize again for my rudeness. After all, he had been kind, very kind, and I had scarcely thanked him. So I turned back to say something, I hardly knew what. My doing so was a mistake. The door behind me opened and a voice said reproachfully, “Father, are you still here? The doctor said . . . Oh, I beg pardon.” I recognized the voice. Of all voices in the world I wished least to hear it just then. My back was toward the door and I kept it so. If she would only go! If she would only shut that door and go away! I think she would have gone but her father called her.