commercial speculation never was in my line. I'm afraid you must count me out of this."
"What! You're going to tell—?"
"No," said Jimmy, "I'm not. I'm not a vigilance committee. I won't tell a soul."
"Why, then—" began Hargate, relieved.
"Unless, of course," Jimmy went on, "you play billiards again while you're here."
Hargate stared.
"But, damn it, man, if I don't, what's the good—? Look here. What am I to do if they ask me to play?"
"Give your wrist as an excuse."
"My wrist?"
"Yes. You sprained it to-morrow after breakfast. It was bad luck. I wonder how you came to do it. You didn't sprain it much, but just enough to stop you playing billiards."
Hargate reflected.
"Understand?" said Jimmy.
"Oh, very well," said Hargate, sullenly. "But," he burst out, "if I ever get a chance to get even with you—"
"You won't," said Jimmy. "Dismiss the rosy dream. Get even! You don't know me. There's not a flaw in my armor. I'm a sort of modern edition of the stainless knight. Tennyson drew Galahad from me. I move through life with almost a sickening absence of sin. But hush! We are observed. At least, we shall be in another minute.
