“Rolliver and I always stood together,” he said at last, with a tinge of reluctance.

“Well, how much have you made out of it?  Ain’t he always been ahead of the game?”

“I can’t do it—­I can’t do it,” said Mr. Spragg, bringing his clenched hand down on the desk, as if addressing an invisible throng of assailants.

Moffatt rose without any evidence of disappointment in his ruddy countenance.  “Well, so long,” he said, moving toward the door.  Near the threshold he paused to add carelessly:  “Excuse my referring to a personal matter—­but I understand Miss Spragg’s wedding takes place next Monday.”

Mr. Spragg was silent.

“How’s that?” Moffatt continued unabashed.  “I saw in the papers the date was set for the end of June.”

Mr. Spragg rose heavily from his seat.  “I presume my daughter has her reasons,” he said, moving toward the door in Moffatt’s wake.

“I guess she has—­same as I have for wanting you to step round with me to old Driscoll’s.  If Undine’s reasons are as good as mine—­”

“Stop right here, Elmer Moffatt!” the older man broke out with lifted hand.  Moffatt made a burlesque feint of evading a blow; then his face grew serious, and he moved close to Mr. Spragg, whose arm had fallen to his side.

“See here, I know Undine’s reasons.  I’ve had a talk with her—­didn’t she tell you?  She don’t beat about the bush the way you do.  She told me straight out what was bothering her.  She wants the Marvells to think she’s right out of Kindergarten.  ’No goods sent out on approval from this counter.’  And I see her point—­I don’t mean to publish my meemo’rs.  Only a deal’s a deal.”  He paused a moment, twisting his fingers about the heavy gold watch-chain that crossed his waistcoat.  “Tell you what, Mr. Spragg, I don’t bear malice—­not against Undine, anyway—­and if I could have afforded it I’d have been glad enough to oblige her and forget old times.  But you didn’t hesitate to kick me when I was down and it’s taken me a day or two to get on my legs again after that kicking.  I see my way now to get there and keep there; and there’s a kinder poetic justice in your being the man to help me up.  If I can get hold of fifty thousand dollars within a day or so I don’t care who’s got the start of me.  I’ve got a dead sure thing in sight, and you’re the only man that can get it for me.  Now do you see where we’re coming out?”

Mr. Spragg, during this discourse, had remained motionless, his hands in his pockets, his jaws moving mechanically, as though he mumbled a tooth-pick under his beard.  His sallow cheek had turned a shade paler, and his brows hung threateningly over his half-closed eyes.  But there was no threat—­there was scarcely more than a note of dull curiosity—­in the voice with which he said:  “You mean to talk?”

Moffatt’s rosy face grew as hard as a steel safe.  “I mean you to talk—­to old Driscoll.”  He paused, and then added:  “It’s a hundred thousand down, between us.”