"No," he said; "I won't see you. What did you have? Let's see, just for the fun of it."Blix spread her cards on the table.
"Not a blessed thing!" exclaimed Condy. "I might have known it.
There's my last dollar gone, too. Lend me fifty cents, Blix."Blix shook her head.
"Why, what a little niggard!" he exclaimed aggrievedly. "I'll pay them all back to you.""Now, why should I lend you money to play against me? I'll not give you a chip; and, besides, I don't want to play any more.
Let's stop."
"I've a mind to stop for good; stop playing even with you."Blix gave a little cry of joy.
"Oh, Condy, will you, could you? and never, never touch a card again? never play for money? I'd be so happy--but don't unless you know you would keep your promise. I would much rather have you play every night, down there at your club, than break your promise."Condy fell silent, biting thoughtfully at the knuckle of a forefinger.
"Think twice about it, Condy," urged Blix; "because this would be for always."Condy hesitated; then, abstractedly and as though speaking to himself:
"It's different now. Before we took that--three months ago, Idon't say. It was harder for me to quit then, but now--well, everything is different now; and it would please you, Blixy!""More than anything else I can think of, Condy."He gave her his hand.
"That settles it," he said quietly. "I'll never gamble again, Blix."Blix gripped his hand hard, then jumped up, and, with a quick breath of satisfaction, gathered up the cards and chips and flung them into the fireplace.
"Oh, I'm so glad that's over with," she exclaimed, her little eyes dancing. "I've pretended to like it, but I've hated it all the time. You don't know HOW I've hated it! What men can see in it to make them sit up all night long is beyond me. And you truly mean, Condy, that you never will gamble again? Yes, I know you mean it this time. Oh, I'm so happy I could sing!""Good Heavens, don't do that!" he cried quickly. "You're a nice, amiable girl, Blix, even if you're not pretty, and you--""Oh, bother you!" she retorted; "but you promise?""On my honor."
"That's enough," she said quietly.
But even when "loafing" as he was this evening, Condy could not rid himself of the thought and recollection of his novel; resting or writing, it haunted him. Otherwise he would not have been the story-writer that he was. From now on until he should set down the last sentence, the "thing" was never to let him alone, never to allow him a moment's peace. He could think of nothing else, could talk of nothing else; every faculty of his brain, every sense of observation or imagination incessantly concentrated themselves upon this one point.
As they sat in the bay window watching the moon rise, his mind was still busy with it, and he suddenly broke out:
"I ought to work some kind of a TREASURE into the yarn. What's a story of adventure without a treasure? By Jove, Blix, I wish Icould give my whole time to this stuff! It's ripping good material, and it ought to be handled as carefully as glass. Ought to be worked up, you know.""Condy," said Blix, looking at him intently, "what is it stands in your way of leaving the 'Times'? Would they take you back if you left them long enough to write your novel? You could write it in a month, couldn't you, if you had nothing else to do? Suppose you left them for a month--would they hold your place for you?""Yes--yes, I think they would; but in the meanwhile, Blix--there's the rub. I've never saved a cent out of my salary. When I stop, my pay stops, and wherewithal would I be fed? What are you looking for in that drawer--matches? Here, I've got a match."Blix faced about at the sideboard, shutting the drawer by leaning against it. In both hands she held one of the delft sugar-bowls.
She came up to the table, and emptied its contents upon the blue denim table-cover--two or three gold pieces, some fifteen silver dollars, and a handful of small change.
Disregarding all Condy's inquiries, she counted it, making little piles of the gold and silver and nickel pieces.
