"Mr. Malcolmson,
please give me my receipt."
"Ah!" Mr. Wingrave remarked. "I thought that you would find the
money."
Nesbitt bit his lip, but he said nothing till he had the receipt and
had fastened it up in his pocket. Then he turned suddenly round upon
Wingrave.
"Look here!" he said. "You've got your money. I don't owe you a cent.
Now I'm going to tell you what I think of you."
Wingrave rose slowly to his feet. He was as tall as the boy, long,
lean, and hard. His face expressed neither anger nor excitement, but
there was a slight, dangerous glitter in his deep-set eyes.
"If you mean," he said, "that you are going to be impertinent, I would
recommend you to change your mind."
Nesbitt for a moment hesitated. There was something ominous in the
cool courage of the older man. And before he could collect himself,
Wingrave continued:--
"I presume," he said, "that you chose your own profession. You knew
quite well there was no place in it for men with a sense of the higher
morality. It is a profession of gamblers and thieves. If you'd won,
you'd have thought yourself a smart fellow and pocketed your winnings
fast enough. Now that you've lost--don't whine. You sat down willingly
enough to play the game with me. Don't call me names because you lost.
This is no place for children. Pocket your defeat, and be more careful
next time."
Nesbitt was silent for a moment. Wingrave, cool and immovable,
dominated him.
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