It was filled with a
great roll of bills. He pried this out, brought it over to the desk and
began wrapping it up. "I want you to take this with you when you go," said
he. "I've made several big killings lately, and I'm going to get you to
invest the proceeds."
"I can't take that big bundle along with me, Joe," said I. "Besides, it
ain't safe. Put it in the bank and send me a check."
"Not on your life," replied Healey with a laugh. "The suckers we trimmed
gave checks, and I turned 'em into cash as soon as the banks opened. I
wasn't any too spry, either. Two of the damned sneaks consulted lawyers
as soon as they sobered off, and tried to stop payment on their checks.
They're threatening proceedings. You must take the dough away with you, and
I don't want a receipt."
"Trimming suckers, eh?" said I, not able to decide what to do.
"Their fathers stole it from the public," he explained. "They're drunken
little snobs, not fit to have money. I'm doing a public service by
relieving them of it. If I'd 'a' got more, I'd feel that much more"--he
vented his light, cool, sarcastic laugh--"more patriotic."
"I can't take it," said I, feeling that, in my present condition, to take
it would be very near to betraying the confidence of my old friend.
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