A MILLIONAIRE OF YESTERDAY by E. Phillips Oppenheim
"Filth," grunted Trent - "ugh! I tell you what it is, my venerable
friend - I have seen some dirty cabins in the west of Ireland and
some vile holes in East London. I've been in some places which I
can't think of even now without feeling sick. I'm not a particular
chap, wasn't brought up to it - no, nor squeamish either, but this
is a bit thicker than anything I've ever knocked up against. If
Francis doesn't hurry we'll have to chuck it! We shall never stand
it out, Monty!"
The older man, gaunt, blear-eyed, ragged, turned over on his side.
His appearance was little short of repulsive. His voice when he
spoke was, curiously enough, the voice of a gentleman, thick and a
trifle rough though it sounded.
"My young friend," he said, "I agree with you - in effect - most
heartily. The place is filthy, the surroundings are repulsive, not
to add degrading. The society is - er - not congenial - I allude