"You little, white-livered sneak," he said in a deep rumbling voice that
was like thunder in the still room. "Pull yourself together and try to be
a man. Take on the bet or not, whichever you like. You're savin' up for
the housekeepin' I suppose. Well, take it or leave it--fifty pounds that
I get back safe in this house to-night. Are you on?"
Merriton's teeth bit into his lips until the blood came in the effort at
repression. He shook Wynne's hands off his shoulders and laughed straight
into the other man's sneering face.
"Well then go--and be damned to you!" he said fiercely. "And blame your
drunken wits if you come to grief. I've done my best to dissuade you. If
you were less drunk I'd square the thing up and fight you. But I'm on,
all right. Fifty pounds that you don't get back here--though I'm decent
enough to hope I'll have to pay it. That satisfy you?"
"All right." Wynne straightened himself, took an unsteady step forward
toward the door, and it was then that they all realized how exceedingly
drunk the man was.
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