Part 7 (1/2)
”I haven't a cent of money,” he murmured faintly. ”I spent my last quarter for those beastly crackers. What's to be done? What is to be done? I'll--I'll leave him my watch. Yes, that's the only thing.”
Blix calmly took out her purse. ”I expected it,” she said resignedly.
”I knew this would happen sooner or later, and I always have been prepared. How much is it, John?” she asked of the Chinaman.
”Hefahdollah.”
”I'll never be able to look you in the face again,” protested Condy.
”I'll pay you back to-night. I will! I'll send it up by a messenger boy.”
”Then you WOULD be a buffoon.”
”Don't!” he exclaimed. ”Don't, it humiliates me to the dust.”
”Oh, come along and don't be so absurd. It must be after five.”
Half-way down the bra.s.s-bound stairs, he clapped his hand to his head with a start.
”And NOW what is it?” she inquired meekly.
”Forgotten, forgotten!” he exclaimed. ”I knew I would forget something.”
”I knew it, you mean.”
He ran back, and returned with the great bag of crackers, and thrust it into her hands. ”Here, here, take these. We mustn't leave these,” he declared earnestly. ”It would be a shameful waste of money;” and in spite of all her protests, he insisted upon taking the crackers along.
”I wonder,” said Blix, as the two skirted the Plaza, going down to Kearney Street; ”I wonder if I ought to ask him to supper?”
”Ask who--me?--how funny to--”
”I wonder if we are talked out--if it would spoil the day?”
”Anyhow, I'm going to have supper at the Club; and I've got to write my article some time to-night.”
Blix fixed him with a swift glance of genuine concern. ”Don't play to-night, Condy,” she said, with a sudden gravity.
”Fat lot I can play! What money have I got to play with?”
”You might get some somewheres. But, anyhow, promise me you won't play.”
”Well, of course I'll promise. How can I, if I haven't any money? And besides, I've got my whaleback stuff to write. I'll have supper at the Club, and go up in the library and grind out copy for a while.”
”Condy,” said Blix, ”I think that diver's story is almost too good for 'The Times.' Why don't you write it and send it East? Send it to the Centennial Company, why don't you? They've paid some attention to you now, and it would keep your name in their minds if you sent the story to them, even if they didn't publish it. Why don't you think of that?”
”Fine--great idea! I'll do that. Only I'll have to write it out of business hours. It will be extra work.”
”Never mind, you do it; and,” she added, as he put her on the cable car, ”keep your mind on that thirty-thousand-word story of adventure.
Good-by, Condy; haven't we had the jolliest day that ever was?”
”Couldn't have been better. Good-by, Blix.”