When nothing troubled him--
that is to say, as a rule--he invariably used mine. I left him
ruminating; went out, did some business, and met him again at our
usual luncheon-table at the Bath Club.
"I believe," said Jimmy reflectively at luncheon, "that my way with
Farrell was the better, after all. . . . You'll admit that it did the
trick, and without causing any offence to anybody. Well, if you ask
me how to deal with the Professor, I'll be equally practical.
Starve him off."
"No good," said I. "If I cut off supply, he'll only come back,
demand his money and be off on the trail again. Indeed, he may turn
up in these rooms to-morrow: for it's ten to one, on my reckoning,
that Farrell will pretty soon break back for home."
"All the easier, then," said Jimmy. "Save you the trouble of writing
a letter. When he comes for his money, tell him you're freezing on
to it."
"But, man alive! it's Jack's money. You wouldn't have me thieve,
would you? . . . As for the letter, I've written it; in fact you may
say that I've written two, or, rather, assisted at their composition.
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