Part 3 (1/2)

Monty was foaming with pa.s.sion and baffled desire. ”You beast!” he cried, ”you low, ill-bred cur! How dared you look at her picture! How dare you make me such an offer! Let me go, I say! Let me go!”

But Trent did not immediately relax his grasp. It was evidently not safe to let him go. His fit of anger bordered upon hysterics. Presently he grew calmer but more maudlin. Trent at last released him, and, thrusting the bottle of brandy into his coat-pocket, returned to his game of Patience. Monty lay on the ground watching him with red, s.h.i.+fty eyes.

”Trent,” he whimpered. But Trent did not answer him.

”Trent, you needn't have been so beastly rough. My arm is black and blue and I am sore all over.”

But Trent remained silent. Monty crept a little nearer. He was beginning to feel a very injured person.

”Trent,” he said, ”I'm sorry we've had words. Perhaps I said more than I ought to have done. I did not mean to call you names. I apologise.”

”Granted,” Trent said tersely, bending over his game.

”You see, Trent,” he went on, ”you're not a family man, are you? If you were, you would understand. I've been down in the mire for years, an utter scoundrel, a poor, weak, broken-down creature. But I've always kept that picture! It's my little girl! She doesn't know I'm alive, never will know, but it's all I have to remind me of her, and I couldn't part with it, could I?”

”You'd be a blackguard if you did,” Trent answered curtly.

Monty's face brightened.

”I was sure,” he declared, ”that upon reflection you would think so.

I was sure of it. I have always found you very fair, Trent, and very reasonable. Now shall we say two hundred?”

”You seem very anxious for a game,” Trent remarked. ”Listen, I will play you for any amount you like, my I O U against your I O U. Are you agreeable?”

Monty shook his head. ”I don't want your money, Trent,” he said. ”You know that I want that brandy. I will leave it to you to name the stake I am to set up against it.”

”As regards that,” Trent answered shortly, ”I've named the stake; I'll not consider any other.”

Monty's face once more grew black with anger.

”You are a beast, Trent--a bully!” he exclaimed pa.s.sionately; ”I'll not part with it!”

”I hope you won't,” Trent answered. ”I've told you what I should think of you if you did.”

Monty moved a little nearer to the opening of the hut. He drew the photograph hesitatingly from his pocket, and looked at it by the moonlight. His eyes filled with maudlin tears. He raised it to his lips and kissed it.

”My little girl,” he whispered. ”My little daughter.” Trent had re-lit his pipe and started a fresh game of Patience. Monty, standing in the opening, began to mutter to himself.

”I am sure to win--Trent is always unlucky at cards--such a little risk, and the brandy--ah!”

He sucked in his lips for a moment with a slight gurgling sound. He looked over his shoulder, and his face grew haggard with longing. His eyes sought Trent's, but Trent was smoking stolidly and looking at the cards spread out before him, as a chess-player at his pieces.

”Such a very small risk,” Monty whispered softly to himself. ”I need the brandy too. I cannot sleep without it! Trent!”

Trent made no answer. He did not wish to hear. Already he had repented.

He was not a man of keen susceptibility, but he was a trifle ashamed of himself. At that moment he was tempted to draw the cork, and empty the brandy out upon the ground.

”Trent! Do you hear, Trent?”