Page:The Unspeakable Gentleman (IA unspeakablegent00marq).pdf/115

 "I knew you would understand," he said, with something I took for a sigh of relief. "I told them you were too sensible a man, George, not to realize when a thing was useless."

My father drew the paper from his breast pocket, and looked at it thoughtfully.

"Yes," he said slowly. "I suppose I must let it go."

"Good God! What are you doing?" cried my uncle.

My father had turned to the fireplace, and was holding the paper over the blaze. But for some reason my uncle was not relieved. He made an ineffectual gesture. His face became a blotched red and white. His eyes grew round and staring, and his mouth fell helplessly open.

"Stop!" he gasped. "For God's sake, George"

"Stay where you are, Jason," said my father. I can manage alone, I think. I suppose I should have burned it long ago."

He withdrew the paper slightly, as if to prolong the scene before him. If my uncle had been on the verge of ruin, he could not have looked more depressed.

"Don't!" he cried. "Will you listen, George? I'll be glad to pay you for it."