Page:The Mating of the Blades.djvu/69

 hs whom he had fought in the alley for the loss, but a short examination told him that, indirectly, it was the ancient blade which had played thief. Putting it back, he must have rammed it down too hard; it had bitten through the thin, threadbare velvet sheath, had made a neat slit in the pocket lining, and the money had dropped through.

Not for a second did he consider asking his father for assistance. Not for a second did he give up his plan of going to Calcutta by the first steamer.

“If I can't go first class,” he said to himself, “I'll go steerage—Asiatic steerage if I have to.”

And then, with that dry, rather grim humor, typically English in its way, disconcerting, incongruous, bobbing up in moments of emotional stress, acting as a safety valve as it were:

“You stole my money,” addressing the blade which flickered ironically beneath the lamp-light, “and now you are going to pay for it—and serve you jolly well right!”

He weighed it in his hand, and, continuing his soliloquy:

“I have been told that there's nothing you can't buy or sell in London, for the right price, from the Ko-hi-noor to a paper of Yankee chewing gum. Very well. Let's see if there's a market for thieving, dishonest Oriental blades!”

He had no other valuables. His watch was a simple silver half-hunter; and the few shillings in his trousers were just about enough to pay for his room and perhaps a drink. He decided that he needed that drink right now, and went down to the old-fashioned saloon