You can square me with him." "I--I'd even thrash him," mumbled Sid.
"Then if you will I'd like you to get in touch with Westcott's wife and tell her.

I'm painting her portrait.

She comes to-morrow at ten.
Sid, could you--could you clean off those two chairs ?" Sid fell upon the nearest chair with fearful energy.

At the table Kenny hurriedly wrote a check.
"And to-morrow I want you to deposit this to Brian's account.

I'm paying back--what I owe him." His mouth worked.
"Oh, Sid!" he said, his face scarlet.
"Now, now, now, Kenny," choked the little painter, winking and making horrible faces at the littered chair, "don't you go to taking on.
Don't you do it.