"Last night he sat there looking like a superannuated cavalry colonel in spectacles, neuritis twitching his entire left side, unable to light his own cigar; and there he sat and rambled on and on about innate purity and American womanhood." He turned abruptly as a steward stepped up bearing a decanter and tray of glasses.
Portlaw helped himself, grumbling under his breath that he meant to cut out this sort of thing and set Wayward an example.
Malcourt lifted his glass gaily: "Our wives and sweethearts; may they never meet!" They set back their empty glasses; Portlaw started to move away, still muttering about the folly of self-indulgence; but the other detained him.
"Wayward took it out of me in 'Preference' this morning while Garry was out courting.

I'd better liquidate to-night, hadn't I, Billy ?" "Certainly," said Portlaw.
The other shook his head.

"I'll get it all back at Miami, of course.

In the mean time--if you don't mind letting me have enough to square things--" Portlaw hesitated, balancing his bulk uneasily first on one foot, then the other.
"I don't mind; no; only--" "Only what ?" asked Malcourt.

"I told you I couldn't afford to play cards on this trip, but you insisted." "Certainly, certainly! I expected to consider you as--as--" "I'm your general manager and I'm ready at all times to earn my salary.
If you think it best to take me away from the estate for a junketing trip and make me play cards you can do it of course; but if you think I'm here to throw my money overboard I'm going back to-morrow!" "Nonsense," said Portlaw; "you're not going back.