"You'll have to pay, Bill. I've got less than a dollar left. And I touched Gaskill for a hundred and fifty to-night. You can imagine how drunk he was, to let me have it. How they've been shying off from ME these last few months!"
"And you want GALLOWAY to come to YOU," thrust Tetlow, as he counted out the money.
"Don't go back and chew on that," laughed Norman. "It's settled." He took the money, gave it to the driver. "Thanks," he said to Tetlow. "I'll pay you to-morrow--that is, later to-day--when you send me another check."
"Why should you pay for my cab?" rejoined Tetlow.
"Because it's easier for me to make money than it is for you," replied Norman. "If you were in my position--the position I've been in for months--would anybody on earth give you three thousand dollars a month?"
Tetlow looked sour. His good nature was rubbing thin in spots.
"Don't lose your temper," laughed Norman.
"I'm pounding away at you about my superiority, partly because I've been drinking, but chiefly for your own good--so that you'll realize I'm right and not mess things with Galloway."
They went up to Norman's suite. Norman tried to unlock the door, found it already unlocked. He turned the knob, threw the door wide for Tetlow to enter first.
Then, over Tetlow's shoulder he saw on the marble-topped center table Dorothy's hat and jacket, the one she had worn away, the only one she had. He stared at them, then at Tetlow. A confused look in the fat, slow face made him say sharply:
"What does this mean, Tetlow?"
"Not so loud, Fred," said Tetlow, closing the door into the public hall. "She's in the bedroom--probably asleep. She's been here since yesterday."
"You brought her back?" demanded Norman.
"She wanted to come. I simply----"
Norman made a silencing gesture. Tetlow's faltering voice stopped short. Norman stood near the table, his hands deep in his trousers' pockets, his gaze fixed upon the hat and jacket. When Tetlow's agitation could bear the uncertainties of that silence no longer, he went on:
"Fred, you mustn't forget how young and inexperienced she is. She's been foolish, but nothing more.
She's as pure as when she came into the world. And it's the truth that she wanted to come back. I saw it as soon as I began to talk with her."
"What are you chattering about?" said Norman fiercely. "Why did you meddle in my affairs? Why did you bring her back?"
"I knew she needed you," pleaded Tetlow. "Then, too--I was afraid-- I knew how you acted before, and I thought you'd not get your gait again until you had her."
Norman gave a short sardonic laugh. "If you'd only stop trying to understand me!" he said.
Tetlow was utterly confused. "But, Fred, you don't realize--not all," he cried imploringly. "She discovered--she thinks, I believe--that is--she--she --that probably--that in a few months you'll be something more than a husband--and she something more than a wife--that you--that--you and she will be a father and a mother."
Tetlow's meaning slowly dawned on Norman. He seated himself in his favorite attitude, legs sprawled, fingers interlaced behind his head.
"Wasn't I right to bring her back--to tell her she needn't fear to come?" pleaded Tetlow.
Norman made no reply. After a brief silence he said: "Well, good night, old man. Come round to my office any time after ten." He rose and gave Tetlow his hand. "And arrange for Galloway whenever you like. Good night."
Tetlow hesitated. "Fred--you'll not be harsh to her?" he said.
Norman smiled--a satirical smile, yet exquisitely gentle. "If you ONLY wouldn't try to understand me, Bill," he said.
