“I wish you could. I’d give it to you gladly if I had it, but ten thousand dollars is every cent I can manage, on my word of honor. Of course, sir, you understand that is simply the first payment. Later—”
Spade laughed. “I know you’ll give me millions later,” he said, “but let’s stick to this first payment now. Fifteen thousand?”
Gutman smiled and frowned and shook his head. “ Mr. Spade, I’ve told you frankly and candidly and on my word of honor as a gentleman that ten thousand dollars is all the money I’ve got—every penny—and all I can raise.”
“But you didn’t say positively.”
Gutman laughed and said: “Positively.”
Spade said gloomily: “That’s not any too good, but if it’s the best you can do—give it to me.”
Gutman handed him the envelope. Spade counted the bills and was putting them in his pocket when Brigid O’Shaughnessy came in carrying a tray.
The boy would not eat. Cairo took a cup of coffee. The girl, Gutman, and Spade ate the scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and marmalade she had prepared, and drank two cups of coffee apiece. Then they settled down to wait the rest of the night through.
Gutman smoked a cigar and read Celebrated Criminal Cases of America , now and then chuckling over or commenting on the parts of its contents that amused him. Cairo nursed his mouth and sulked on his end of the sofa. The boy sat with his head in his hands until a little after four o’clock. Then he lay down with his feet towards Cairo, turned his face to the window, and went to sleep. Brigid O’Shaughnessy, in the armchair, dozed, listened to the fat man’s comments, and carried on wide-spaced desultory conversations with Spade.