"Why, Conny, old man, all alone here? Let's go downstairs and have
a cigar. Hendricks and George Hands are coming around in half an
hour. They told me not to let you get away."
Condy stirred nervously in his chair. He knew what that meant.
He had enough money in his pockets to play that night, and in an
instant the enemy was all awake. The rowel was in his flank
again, and the scourge at his back. Sargeant stood there, the
well-groomed clubman of thirty; a little cynical perhaps, but a
really good fellow for all that, and undeniably fond of Condy.
But somewhere with the eyes of some second self Condy saw the girl
of nineteen, part child and part woman; saw her goodness, her
fine, sweet feminine strength as it were a dim radiance; "What's a
good man worth, Condy," she had said, "if he's not a strong man?"
"I suppose we'll have a game going before midnight," admitted
Sargeant resignedly, smiling good-humoredly nevertheless.
Condy set his teeth. "I'll join you later. Wait a few moments,"
he said. He hurried to the office of the club, and sent a
despatch to Blix--the third since morning:
"Can I come up right away? It's urgent. Send answer by this
messenger."
He got his answer within three-quarters of an hour, and left the
club as Hendricks and George Hands arrived by the elevator
entrance.
Sitting in the bay window of the dining-room, he told Blix why he
had come.
"Oh, you were right!" she told him.
Pages:
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94