"I wonder," said Cornish, "if this is going to the end?"
And he went forward to meet the financier.
"I was afraid you would not come," he said, in a voice that was
friendly enough, for he was a man of the world, and in that which is
called Society (with a capital letter) had rubbed elbows all his life
with many who had no better reputation than Percy Roden, and some who
deserved a worse.
"Oh, I don't mind coming," answered Roden, "because I did not want to
keep you waiting here in the dark. But it is no good, I tell you that
at the outset."
"And nothing I can say will alter your decision?" "Nothing. A man does
not get two such chances as this in his lifetime. I am not going to
throw this one away for the sake of a sentiment." "Sentiment hardly
describes the case," said Cornish, thoughtfully. "Do you mean to tell
me that you do not care about all these deaths--about these poor devils
of malgamiters?" And he looked hard at his companion beneath the lamp.
"Not a d--n," answered Roden. "I have been poor--you haven't. Why, man!
I have starved inside a good coat. You don't know what that means."
Cornish looked at him, and said nothing. There was no mistaking the
man's sincerity--nor the manner in which his voice suddenly broke when
he spoke of hunger.
"Then there are only two things left for me to do," said Cornish, after
a moment's reflection. "Ask your sister to marry me first, and smash
you up afterwards.
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