"The boy's not strong enough yet. I don't think you can do anything for
him, unless--"
The monstrous injustice of the thing overcame her. Palmer and she walking
about, and the boy lying on his hot bed! She choked.
"Well?"
"He worries about his mother. If you could give her some money, it would
help."
"Money! Good Heavens--I owe everybody."
"You owe him too, don't you? He'll never walk again."
"I can't give them ten dollars. I don't see that I'm under any obligation,
anyhow. I paid his board for two months in the hospital."
When she did not acknowledge this generosity,--amounting to forty-eight
dollars,--his irritation grew. Her silence was an accusation. Her manner
galled him, into the bargain. She was too calm in his presence, too cold.
Where she had once palpitated visibly under his warm gaze, she was now
self-possessed and quiet. Where it had pleased his pride to think that he
had given her up, he found that the shoe was on the other foot.
At the entrance to a side street she stopped.
"I turn off here."
"May I come and see you sometime?"
"No, please."
"That's flat, is it?"
"It is, Palmer."
He swung around savagely and left her.
The next day he drew the thousand dollars from the bank. A good many of
his debts he wanted to pay in cash; there was no use putting checks
through, with incriminating indorsements. Also, he liked the idea of
carrying a roll of money around. The big fellows at the clubs always had a
wad and peeled off bills like skin off an onion. He took a couple of
drinks to celebrate his approaching immunity from debt.
He played auction bridge that afternoon in a private room at one of the
hotels with the three men he had lunched with. Luck seemed to be with him.
He won eighty dollars, and thrust it loose in his trousers pocket. Money
seemed to bring money! If he could carry the thousand around for a day or
so, something pretty good might come of it.
He had been drinking a little all afternoon. When the game was over, he
bought drinks to celebrate his victory. The losers treated, too, to show
they were no pikers. Palmer was in high spirits. He offered to put up the
eighty and throw for it. The losers mentioned dinner and various
engagements.
Palmer did not want to go home. Christine would greet him with raised
eyebrows. They would eat a stuffy Lorenz dinner, and in the evening
Christine would sit in the lamplight and drive him mad with soft music. He
wanted lights, noise, the smiles of women. Luck was with him, and he
wanted to be happy.