The Ides of March
won't sit down, thank you. Nor will you ask me to do either when you've heard what I have to say."
"Really?" said he, lighting his own cigarette with one clear blue eye upon me. "How do you know?"
"Because you'll probably show me the door," I cried bitterly; "and you'll be justified in doing it! But it's no use beating about the bush. You know I dropped over two hundred just now?"
He nodded.
"I hadn't the money in my pocket."
"I remember."
"But I had my cheque-book, and I wrote each of you a cheque at that desk."
"Well?"
"Not one of them was worth the paper it was written on, Raffles. I am overdrawn already at my bank!"
"Surely only for the moment?"
"No. I have spent everything."
"But somebody told me you were so well off. I heard you had come in for money?"
"So I did. Three years ago. It has been my curse; now it's all gone—every penny!
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