solence which was exceedingly offensive. He
would go over to the club and try his luck with some honest
player,--perhaps something might turn up to relieve him from his
embarrassment.

He put his hand in his pocket mechanically,--and found it empty! In the
present state of his credit, he could hardly play without money.

A thought struck him. Leaving the hotel, he hastened home, where he
found Sandy dusting his famous suit of clothes on the back piazza. Mr.
Delamere was not at home, having departed for Belleview about two
o'clock, leaving Sandy to follow him in the morning.

"Hello, Sandy," exclaimed Tom, with an assumed jocularity which he was
very far from feeling, "what are you doing with those gorgeous
garments?"

"I'm a-dustin' of 'em, Mistuh Tom, dat's w'at I'm a-doin'. Dere's
somethin' wrong 'bout dese clo's er mine--I don' never seem ter be able
ter keep 'em clean no mo'. Ef I b'lieved in dem ole-timey sayin's, I'd
'low dere wuz a witch come here eve'y night an' tuk 'em out an' wo' 'em,
er tuk me out an' rid me in 'em. Dere wuz somethin' wrong 'bout dat
cakewalk business, too, dat I ain' never unde'stood an' don' know how
ter 'count fer, 'less dere wuz some kin' er dev'lishness goin' on dat
don' show on de su'face."

"Sandy," asked Tom irrelevantly, "have you any money in the house?"

"Yas, suh, I got de money Mars John give me ter git dem things ter take
out ter Belleview in de mawnin."

"I mean money of your own."

"I got a qua'ter ter buy terbacker wid," returned Sandy cautiously.

"Is that all? Haven't you some saved up?"

"Well, yas, Mistuh Tom," returned Sandy, with evident reluctance, "dere's
a few dollahs put away in my bureau drawer fer a rainy day,--not
much, suh."

"I'm a little short this afternoon, Sandy, and need some money right
away. Grandfather isn't here, so I can't get any from him. Let me take
what you have for a day or two, Sandy, and I'll return it with good
interest."

"Now, Mistuh Tom," said Sandy seriously, "I don' min' lettin' you take
my money, but I hopes you ain' gwine ter use it fer none er dem
rakehelly gwines-on er yo'n,--gamblin' an' bettin' an' so fo'th. Yo'
grandaddy 'll fin' out 'bout you yit, ef you don' min' yo' P's an' Q's.
I does my bes' ter keep yo' misdoin's f'm 'im, an' sense I b'en tu'ned
out er de chu'ch--thoo no fault er my own, God knows!--I've tol' lies
'nuff 'bout you ter sink a ship. But it ain't right, Mistuh Tom, it
ain't right! an' I only does