That'll show you what London is like."
"Yes--I suppose they do those things," remarked Tavender, vaguely.
"Well--my point is that perhaps I can do something
or other with this concession of yours here. I may even
be able to get my money back on it. At any rate I'll
take my chances on it--so that at least you shan't lose
anything by it. Of course, if you'd rather try and put
it on the market yourself, why go ahead!" There was
a wistful pathos in the way Tavender shook his head.
"Big money doesn't mean anything to me any more,"
he said, wearily. "I'm too old and I'm too tired.
Why--four--five--yes, half a dozen times I've had enough money
to last me comfortably all my life--and every time I've used
it as bait to catch bigger money with, and lost it all.
I don't do that any more! I've got something the matter
with me internally that takes the nerve all out of me.
The doctors don't agree about it, but whatever its name
is I've got it for keeps. Probably I shan't live very
long"--Thorpe recalled that the old man had always taken
a gloomy view of his health after the third glass--"and
if you want to pay me the nineteen thousand dollars,
or whatever it is, why I shall say 'God bless you,'
and be more than contented."
"Oh, there's something more to it than that," observed Thorpe,
with an added element of business-like briskness in his tone.
Pages:
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284