"
"I don't want it. I can get it some other place."
"You'd better take--"
"Take nothing--I don't want it."
"Very well, I'm sorry I can't oblige you. But take my advice and don't
bet at all; it'll only get you into trouble."
"Thanks; I don't need your advice. I was a fool to ask you for the
money."
"I say, Alan," began Mortimer, in a coaxing tone.
"Please don't 'Alan' me any more. I can get along without your money
and without your friendship; I don't want either."
Mortimer remained silent. What was the use of angering the boy further?
He would come to see that he had meant it in good part, and would be all
right in a day or two.
During the rest of the day Alan preserved a surly distance of manner,
speaking to Mortimer only once--a constrained request for a bunch of
keys in the latter's possession which unlocked some private drawers in
the vault.
The next morning it suddenly occurred to Mortimer that Porter's note
fell due that day--either that day or the next, he wasn't sure. The
easiest way to settle the question was to look at the date on the note.
He stepped into the vault, took out the little cigar box, opened it, and
as he handled the crisp papers a sudden shock of horror ran through his
frame.
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