“Go on,” he said; “I’m listening.”

So Selwyn continued his pleasant, inconsequential observations, and Gerald lay with closed eyes, quite motionless, until, watching him, Selwyn saw his hand was trembling where it lay clinched beside him.  And presently the boy turned his face to the wall.

Toward midnight Selwyn rose quietly, removed his unlighted pipe from between his teeth, knocked the ashes from it, and pocketed it.  Then he walked to the bed and seated himself on the edge.

“What’s the trouble, old man?” he asked coolly.

There was no answer.  He placed his hand over Gerald’s; the boy’s hand lay inert, then quivered and closed on Selwyn’s convulsively.

“That’s right,” said the elder man; “that’s what I’m here for—­to stand by when you hoist signals.  Go on.”

The boy shook his head and buried it deeper in the pillow.

“Bad as that?” commented Selwyn quietly.  “Well, what of it?  I’m standing by, I tell you. . . .  That’s right”—­as Gerald broke down, his body quivering under the spasm of soundless grief—­“that’s the safety-valve working.  Good business.  Take your time.”

It took a long time; and Selwyn sat silent and motionless, his whole arm numb from its position and Gerald’s crushing grasp.  And at last, seeing that was the moment to speak: 

“Now let’s fix up this matter, Gerald.  Come on!”

“Good heavens! h-how can it be f-fixed—­”

“I’ll tell you when you tell me.  It’s a money difficulty, I suppose; isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Cards?”

“P-partly.”

“Oh, a note?  Case of honour?  Where is this I.O.U. that you gave?”

“It’s worse than that.  The—­the note is paid.  Good God—­I can’t tell you—­”

“You must.  That’s why I’m here, Gerald.”

“Well, then, I—­I drew a check—­knowing that I had no funds.  If it—­if they return it, marked—­”

“I see. . . .  What are the figures?”

The boy stammered them out; Selwyn’s grave face grew graver still.

“That is bad,” he said slowly—­“very bad.  Have you—­but of course you couldn’t have seen Austin—­”

“I’d kill myself first!” said Gerald fiercely.

“No, you wouldn’t do that.  You’re not that kind. . . .  Keep perfectly cool, Gerald; because it is going to be fixed.  The method only remains to be decided upon—­”

“I can’t take your money!” stammered the boy; “I can’t take a cent from you—­after what I’ve said—­the beastly things I’ve said—­”

“It isn’t the things you say to me, Gerald, that matter. . . .  Let me think a bit—­and don’t worry.  Just lie quietly, and understand that I’ll do the worrying.  And while I’m amusing myself with a little quiet reflection as to ways and means, just take your own bearings from this reef; and set a true course once more, Gerald.  That is all the reproach, all the criticism you are going to get from me.  Deal with yourself and your God in silence.”