Chapter: CHAPTER XXXI. A METAMORPHOSIS MORE SURPRISING THAN ANY IN OVID.



"In want of money!" pushing back his chair as from a suddenly-disclosed
man-trap or crater.

"Yes," naively assented the cosmopolitan, "and you are going to loan me
fifty dollars. I could almost wish I was in need of more, only for your
sake. Yes, my dear Charlie, for your sake; that you might the better
prove your noble, kindliness, my dear Charlie."

"None of your dear Charlies," cried the other, springing to his feet,
and buttoning up his coat, as if hastily to depart upon a long journey.

"Why, why, why?" painfully looking up.

"None of your why, why, whys!" tossing out a foot, "go to the devil,
sir! Beggar, impostor!--never so deceived in a man in my life."

 You need money? Charlie pushes his chair away from Frank like he's poison. Frank gives Charlie the puppy-dog eyes. Yes, I need money, and you're going to give me $50 because we're friends and you love me! Charlie flips out, jumps up, and tells Frank to go to you know where. Ouch.

