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Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips), 1866-1946

"A Millionaire of Yesterday"

You'll never do it if you muddle
yourself up with that stuff. Pull yourself together, old 'un.
Chuck the drink till we've seen this thing through at any rate!"
"You don't know my little girl," Monty muttered. "How should you?
She'd care little for money or gewgaws, but she'd break her heart
to see her old father - come to this - broken down - worthless
- a hopeless, miserable wretch. It's too late. Trent, I'll have
just a glass I think. It will do me good. I have been fretting,
Trent, you see how pale I am."
He staggered towards the bottle. Trent watched him, interfering no
longer. With a little chuckle of content he seized upon it and,
too fearful of interference from Trent to wait for a glass, raised
it to his lips. There was a gurgling in his throat - a little spasm
as he choked, and released his lips for a moment. Then the bottle
slid from his nerveless fingers to the floor, and the liquor oozed
away in a little brown stream; even Trent dropped his pack of cards
and sprang up startled. For bending down under the sloping roof
was a European, to all appearance an Englishman, in linen clothes
and white hat. It was the man for whom they had waited.

CHAPTER IV

Trent moved forward and greeted the newcomer awkwardly.


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