"I'm no good!" he said at length, wagging his head and blinking through
his tears. "I'm--I'm done for and I ain't got no money; yet, of course,
you see I don't mean no offence. What I want, you see, is to be a man
and not give in and not let the wolf get me, and then I'll go back to
Paris. Everything goes round here, very slow, and seems far off; that's
why I can't get along, and I'm that hungry that sometimes I twitch all
over. I'm down. I ain't got another cent of money and I lost my job at
the paint-shop. There's where I drew down twenty dollars a week painting
landscapes on safes, you know, and then--"
Geary interrupted him, crying out, "You haven't a cent? Why, what have
you done with your bonds?"
"Bonds?" repeated Vandover, dazed and bewildered. "I ain't never had any
bonds. What bonds? Oh, yes," he exclaimed, suddenly remembering, "yes, I
know, my bonds, of course; yes, yes--well, I--those--those, I had to
sell those bonds--had some debts, you see, my board and my tailor's
bill. They got out some sort of paper after me. Yes, I had forgotten
about my bonds.
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