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Updated: June 26, 2025
I'd sleep in ten-dollar bills, I'd have my clothes made of them, if I could; I'd have my house papered with them; I'd eat 'em. Oh, I know, I know about you and her Diana Welldon! You've sworn off gambling, and you've kept your pledge for near a year. Well, it's twenty years since I gambled twenty years. I gambled with these then." He shook the dice in the box.
"It's got to be known sometime," he said, "and you'll be my lawyer when I'm put into the ground you're clever. They call me a quack. Malpractice bah! There's my diploma James Clifton Welldon. Right enough, isn't it?" Rawley was petrified.
It is, of course, difficult to follow a man's rounded thought in the crabbed phrases of an abbreviating reporter, but it is plain that Dean Welldon has here been guilty of a confusion which only betrays his apologetic poverty in face of this great crisis. Science and it is especially science that the clergy conceive as the rival they have to discredit has no concern whatever with the war.
He knew that what the old quack said was true the West might shake with scandal concerning a few who, no doubt, in remorse and secret fear, had more than paid the penalty of their offences. But he thought of Di Welldon and of her criminal brother, and every nerve, every faculty was screwed to its utmost limit of endurance and capacity. Suddenly the old man gave a new turn to the event.
I'd sleep in ten-dollar bills, I'd have my clothes made of them, if I could; I'd have my house papered with them; I'd eat 'em. Oh, I know, I know about you and her Diana Welldon! You've sworn off gambling, and you've kept your pledge for near a year. Well, it's twenty years since I gambled twenty years. I gambled with these then." He shook the dice in the box.
He looked at the plump face, the full, amiable eyes, now misty with fright, at the characterless hand nervously feeling the golden mustache, at the well-fed, inert body; and he knew that, whatever the trouble or the peril, Dan Welldon could not surmount it alone. "What is it?"
The old gambler's spirit was alive. But even as it rose, sweeping him into that area of fiery abstraction where every nerve is strung to a fine tension and the surrounding world disappears, he saw the face of Diana Welldon, he remembered her words to him not an hour before, and the issue of the conflict, other considerations apart, was without doubt.
"It's got to be known sometime," he said, "and you'll be my lawyer when I'm put into the ground you're clever. They call me a quack. Malpractice bah! There's my diploma James Clifton Welldon. Right enough, isn't it?" Rawley was petrified.
The evil eyes gloated, the long fingers clutched the pile, and swept it into a great inside pocket. Then the shaggy head bent forwards. "You said it was for Dan," he said "Dan Welldon?" Rawley hesitated. "What is that to you?" he replied at last. With a sudden impulse the old impostor lurched round, opened a box, drew out a roll, and threw it on the table.
Its replica was carried to a castle in Scotland. It had been the gift of Diana Welldon on a certain day not long ago, when Flood Rawley had made a pledge to her, which was as vital to him and to his future as two thousand dollars were vital to Dan Welldon now.
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