"'That's what he said, and here it is,' and I handed him the silver.
"'Young man,' he says, glowering at me, 'I don't know what your game is, but I'll tell you right here you can't play it on me. Never heard of Mister-John-Stirling-of-New-York in my life. So you can put your money back.' I wasn't going to be whipped by the old shell-fish, and then I didn't like the way he spoke of Jack. I knew he was the right man, for Jack doesn't make mistakes—not about things like that. So I went at him on another tack.
"'Weren't you up at Philæ two years ago in a dahabieh?'
"'Yes.'
"'And didn't you meet four or five young Americans who came up on the steamer, and who got into a scrape over their fare?'
"'I might—I can't recollect everybody I meet—don't want to—half of 'em—' All this time I was standing, remember.
"'And didn't you—' I was going on to say, but he jumped from his chair and was fumbling about a bookcase.
"'Ah, here it is!' he cried out. 'Here's a book of photographs of a whole raft of young fellows I met up the Nile on that trip. Most of 'em owed me something and still do. Pick out the man now you say owes me fifteen shillings and wants to pay it.'
"'There he is—one of those three.'
"The old fellow adjusted his glasses.