Ralph Stock

“ The girl's eyes held genuine alarm; even the pug was forgotten, and lay breathing audibly into her muff.
"Never more sane,” said Sprague cheerfully. “Don't you see? I've thought in turn that I was a business man, a cad, a cowboy, an actor, a short-story writer, and a playwright. When these fifteen pounds pounds are gone I shall know what the mischief I am. Perhaps I shall turn out to be a man; think of the joys of discovery! The man who finds the south pole won't be in it with me.” ”

“ I should like to meet you again after we're married—if you don't mind.”
“So should I,” said Sprague, with a brusqueness assumed by those who have an instinctive horror of sentiment between men. “G.P.O., Sydney, will always find me in the long run.”
There was a pause while Stone went to the window and looked down into the street.
“What are you going to do out there?” he asked presently.
“Chase my destiny,” said Sprague, crushing the heel of a riding boot into the silk facing of a dinner jacket. “Is it possible to look like a coachman without side whiskers?” ”

“ Sprague went over to the bed and held out his hand.
“Good-by,” he said. “There's no need to wish you every success.”
Something in his voice seemed to arrest Miss Holmes' attention. He had reached the door when she suddenly sat upright and looked at him over the foot of the bed.
“This doesn't mean anything serious to you, does it?” she queried. “I mean financially.”
“Do I look like it?” Sprague smiled as he shut the door.
He smiled again as the lift wafted him to the ground floor at the thought of the fifteen pounds in the Birkbeck Bank that stood between him and actual want. ”