"No! I'm out of the boat now. Philips is the man," said Cotton, sulkily.
"And, by the way, Jim, it wasn't half bad of you to send me that order.
It was no end brickish, especially after I had left you more or less in
the lurch."
"What order?" said Jim, looking curiously at Gus.
"What's the good of trying to pass it off like that, old man? It could
only be you."
"I don't know what you're driving at. You seem to be talking rot," said
Cotton, angrily, for he fancied that Gus was fooling him in some way.
"Well, I've got an order for L1 this morning, envelope stamped St.
Amory, and it could only come from some one who knew I was stumped, and
you're the only fellow who knew that, unless, indeed, you've been kind
enough to tell some of the fellows."
"I've told no one; and anyway, I didn't send the order."
"Oh, rot!"
"Thanks! I don't tell lies as a rule, and I say I know nothing whatever
about your order. I think you'd better cut now, instead of wasting my
time with this rotten foolery."
"You didn't send it?" said Gus, finally, with more than a dash of
irritation in his voice at the continued boorishness of Cotton.
"No, I tell you! Shall I get a foghorn and let you have it that way?"
"Then, look here, Cotton. If you didn't send it, your underscoring of my
name on the house list because I couldn't subscribe was the act of an
arrant cad."
Cotton winced at Gus's concise definition, but he said, "Oh, get out,
you fool!"
"Fool, or not," said Gus, becoming more angry every moment as he thought
of his wrongs, "I'm not an underbred loafer who cleans a fellow out of
his cash and then rounds on him because he can't pay his way.
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