He gave a little laugh, and turned towards the door.
"Guess you're right," he declared; "we'll let it go at that."
Aynesworth followed him from the room.
"I'm awfully glad you're out of the scrape," he said.
Nesbitt caught him by the arm.
"Come right along," he said. "I haven't had a drink in the daytime for
a year, but we're going to have a big one now. I say, do you know how
I got that money?"
Aynesworth shook his head.
"On easy terms, I hope."
They sat down in the American Bar, and a colored waiter in a white
linen suit brought them whisky and Apollinaris in tall tumblers.
"Listen," Nesbitt said. "My brain is on the reel still. I went back to
my office, and if it hadn't been for the little girl, I should have
brought a revolver by the way. Old Johnny there waiting to see me, no
end of a swell, Phillson, the uptown lawyer. He went straight for me.
"'Been dealing in Hardwells?' he asked.
"I nodded.
"'Short, eh?'
"'Six hundred shares,' I answered. There was no harm in telling him
for the Street knew well enough.
"'Bad job,' he said. 'How much does Wingrave want?'
"'Shares at par,' I answered. 'It comes to close on fifty-seven
thousand six hundred dollars.'
"'I'm going to find you the money,' he said.
"Then I can tell you the things in my office began to swim. I'd an
idea somehow that he was there as a friend, but nothing like this. I
couldn't answer him.
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