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He turned up his coat-collar, and ran. As he drew near, he heard a slow and dirge-like whistling proceeding from the interior. Plunging in out of breath, just as the deluge began, he found Hargate seated at the little wooden table with an earnest expression on his face. The table was covered with cards.
Jimmy had seen him hanging about the terrace at half-past five, and had thought that he looked like a mute at a funeral. But now, only a few hours later, he was beaming on the world, and chirping like a bird. The game moved jerkily along. Jimmy took a seat, and watched. The score mounted slowly. Lord Dreever was bad, but Hargate was worse.
"About time, I fancy," said Hargate, looking at his watch an hour later, "that we were going in to dress for dinner." His lordship, made no reply. He was wrapped in thought. "Let's see, that's twenty pounds you owe me, isn't it?" continued Hargate. "Shocking bad luck you had!" They went out into the rose-garden.
So with Spennie Dreever. Bright eyes might shine for him when all was over, but in the meantime what seemed to him more important was that bulging eyes would glare. If only this had happened later even a day later! The reckless impulsiveness of the modern girl had undone him. How was he to pay Hargate the money? Hargate must be paid. That was certain. No other course was possible.
"And, if you think you can bribe me, you never made a bigger mistake in your life." "Yes, I did," said Hargate, "when I thought you had some glimmerings of intelligence. But, if it gives you any pleasure to behave like the juvenile lead in a melodrama, by all means do. Personally, I shouldn't have thought the game would be worth the candle.
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