He picked up the broken fiddle and beckoned. ’ His friend held it out of the way. “Then why the devil,” he demanded, “do you let me stand you dinners and the opera—and why do you come to a cabinet particuliar with me?” He became radiant with anger. . ’ ‘Then Gérard may come back,’ Melusine cried involuntarily on a sudden rising hope. B. Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. Spurling, you're a witness to the bet. “Your father, of course,” he said, “must come to realize just how Splendid you are! He doesn’t understand. White——” “No more,” Sydney Courtlaw begged, laughingly.
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