the man who for a moment had forgotten himself. The laugh was scornful perhaps, but it was not angry.
“Well, you've shut me up,” he declared. “You seem a poor sort of a creature to me, but if you're content, it's no business of mine. Here buy yourself an overcoat, and drink a glass of wine. I'm off!”
He rose from his seat and threw a bank-note over the table. The clerk opened it and handed it back with a little start.
“I am much obliged to you, sir,” he said humbly, “but you have made a mistake. This note is for fifty pounds.”
Trent glanced at it and held out his hand. Then he paused.
“Never mind,” he said, with a short laugh, “I meant to give you a fiver, but it don't make much odds. Only see that you buy some new clothes.”
The clerk half closed his eyes and steadied himself by grasping the back of a chair. There was a lump in his throat in earnest now.
“You—you mean it, sir?” he gasped. “I—I'm afraid I can't thank you!”
“Don't try, unless you want me to take it back,” Trent said, strolling to the sideboard. “Lord, how those City chaps can guzzle! Not a drop of champagne left. Two unopened bottles though! Here, stick 'em in your bag and take 'em to the missis, young man. I paid for the lot, so there's no use leaving any. Now clear out as quick as you can. I'm off!”
“You will allow me, sir—”
Scarlett Trent closed the door with a slam and disappeared. The young man passed him a few moments later as he stood on the steps of the hotel lighting a cigar. He paused again, intent on stammering out some words of thanks. Trent turned his back upon him coldly.
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