"If I had the money I'd give it to you," said Micky. "I wish I were that well off."
Tonio looked at Papa, who stared at him coldly and said simply: "No."
Tonio hung his head. "I'm such a fool about gambling," he said in a hollow voice. "I don't know what I'm going to do. If I go home in disgrace I won't be able to face my family."
Micky said thoughtfully: "Perhaps there is something else I can do to help."
Tonio brightened. "Oh, please, anything!"
"Edward and I are good friends, as you know. I could speak to him on your behalf, explain the circumstances, and ask him to be lenient--as a personal favor to me."
"Would you?" Tonio's face was suffused with hope.
"I'll ask him to wait for his money, and not to tell anyone. I don't say he'll agree to it, mind you. The Pilasters have money by the bucketful but they're a hard-headed bunch. I'll try, anyway."
Tonio clasped Micky's hand. "I don't know how to thank you," he said fervently. "I'll never forget this."
"Don't raise your hopes too high--"
"I can't help it. I've been in despair, and you've given me a reason to go on." Tonio looked shamefaced and added: "I thought of killing myself this morning. I walked across London Bridge and I was going to throw myself into the river."
There was a soft grunt from Papa, who clearly thought that would have been the best thing all round.
Micky said hastily: "Thank God you changed your mind. Now, I'd better go along to Pilasters Bank and talk to Edward."
"When will I see you?"
"Will you be at the club at lunchtime?"
"Of course, if you want me to."
"Meet me there, then."
"Right." Tonio stood up. "I'll leave you to finish your breakfast. And--"
"Don't thank me," Micky said, holding up his hand in a silencing gesture. "It's unlucky. Wait and hope."
"Yes. All right." Tonio bowed again to Papa. "Goodbye, Senor Miranda." He went out.
"Stupid boy," Papa muttered.
"A complete fool," Micky agreed.
Micky went into the next room and dressed in his morning clothes: a white shirt with a stiff upright collar and starched cuffs, buff-colored trousers, a black satin stock which he took the trouble to tie perfectly, and a black double-breasted frock coat. His shoes gleamed with wax and his hair shone with macassar oil. He always dressed elegantly but conservatively: he would never wear one of the fashionable new turndown collars, or carry a monocle like a dandy. The English were ever ready to believe that a foreigner was a cad, and he took care to give them no excuse.
