ifficulties, and I was most
anxious to help him. As I thought that St. Cloud would probably
pay the 40L. but do no more, I wrote also to Chanter--heaven
knows why, except that the beast rolls in money, and has fawned
on me till I've been nearly sick this year past--and asked him to
lend Blake 50L. on our joint note of hand. Poor Blake! when I
told him what I had done at the Mitre, I think I might as well
have stuck the carving knife into him. We had a wretched two
hours; then you came in, and I got my two answers--here they
are."

Tom took the proffered notes, and read:

"DEAR DRYSDALE,--Please explain the allusion in yours to some
mysterious 40L. I remember perfectly the occurrence to which you
refer in another part of your note. You were tired of sitting at
the table, and went off to supper, leaving me (not by my own
desire) to play for you with your money. I did so, and had
abominable luck, as you will remember, for I handed you back a
sadly dwindled heap on your return to the table. I hope you are
in no row about that night? I shall be quite ready to give
evidence of what passed if it will help you in any way. I am
always yours very truly,

A. ST. CLOUD

"P. S. I must decline the little joint operation for Blake's
benefit, which you propose."

The second answer ran:

"DEAR DRYSDALE,--I am sorry that I cannot accommodate Mr. Blake,
as a friend of yours, but you see his acceptance is mere waste
paper, and you cannot give security until you are of age, so if
you were to die the money would be lost. Mr. Blake has always
carried his head as high as if he had 5000l. a year to spend;
perhaps now he will turn less haughty to men who could buy him up
easy enough.

I remain yours sincerely,

JABEZ CHANTER."

Tom looked up and met Drysdale's eyes, which had more of purpose
in them than he had ever seen before. "Fancy poor Blake reading
those two notes," he said, "and 'twas I brought them on him.
However, he shall have the money somehow to-morrow, if I pawn my
watch. I'll be even with those two some day." The two remained in
conference for some time longer; it is hardly worth while to do
more than relate the result.

At three o'clock the next day, Blake, Drysdale and Tom were in
the back parlor of a second-rate inn, in the Corn-market. On the
table were pens and ink, some cases of Eau-de-Cologne and
jewelry, and behind it a fat man of forbidding aspect who spent a
day or two in each term at Oxford. He he